Consequences of Fate
by Girl on Fire
Summary: Troubled free spirit AJ crosses paths with Jack, a militant bigot, resulting in a tragedy that devastates-and comes back to haunt-both them and their loved ones.
1. Save Me from Myself

DISCLAIMER: I own no one (and I certainly wouldn't want to own either Jack Swagger or Zeb Colter!).

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I still intend to update and finish my other fanfics eventually, but I got this idea when I had writer's block on those two and it just refused to be ignored! Also, all Spanish dialogue is courtesy of the SpanishDict web site and my own limited knowledge of the language.

* * *

_(Perry, Oklahoma: Early January.)_

"You know what you need, Jack?"

_Yeah. I need my old life back, _Jack Hager thought bitterly as he turned away from the older man and took another swig of beer. His beautiful wife, young son, the job he once took pride in, their comfortable suburban home...All gone. Every time he reflected on his losses, he got the impression that his past was nothing more than a dream he'd once had long ago. An unexpected breeze ruffled Jack's messy blond hair, and he set his drink down on the table so he could zip up his coat against the frigid January air.

"You need a purpose, son," Zeb continued adamantly, and, as always, the term of endearment lifted Jack's spirits. Zeb Colter had been a friend of the Hager family for decades, and the younger man was as close to him as he was to his own father. Relaxing on Zeb's back porch after a hunting or fishing trip always made him feel more like his old self again...The old man suddenly pointed to the light brown Chesapeake Bay Retriever lying at his feet. "See Patriot there? A huntin' dog like that would go stir crazy if you locked him in the house all day. He _needs _to work. It's in his blood." He paused to pet the dog, whose tail thumped lazily after a long day of game hunting, then balled up his fists and stuffed them into the pockets of his khaki-colored vest. "Men are the same way."

"I've been looking for another job," Jack blurted out, his cheeks growing warm, "but-"

"I know you have." Zeb nodded sympathetically. "It's a tough time to be out of work. What I'm talkin' about is even bigger and more meaningful than holding down a job." He studied the other man through narrowed, intense blue eyes. "Do you still believe in the values you grew up with?"

A startled Jack nodded. "Of course." He'd taken up temporary residence with his parents just before Christmas, and, ever since, he had been bombarded with fond memories of an idyllic childhood centered around religion, family, sports and the outdoors, and—as he grew older—conservative politics. "Why do you ask?"

"Because this country is changing, Jack—and not for the better. Immigrants and liberals are trying to destroy everything you and I hold dear." Zeb twirled one end of his handlebar mustache around his finger as he gazed out over his rural property. The sun had just begun to set. "Did you know most unemployed Americans lost their jobs to immigrants? Not just the illegal kind, either..Every single foreigner who moves here—the ones who aren't too lazy to work—takes a job away from a good, hard-working American." He took a quick sip of beer before resuming his lecture. "And then there are the people who get let go 'cause they don't _habla español_." Jack could practically see the venom dripping from Zeb's lips and down his salt-and-pepper beard. He ran a hand through his dark hair and scowled. "I expect something like that happened to you down in Dallas."

"My boss said the company was downsizing," Jack explained stiffly, but he could feel his blood starting to boil in his veins, and he clenched his beer can a little tighter without realizing it. Deep down, he feared that Zeb's assumptions were right on the money. After all, fluency in Spanish was preferred, if not required, in many of the job offers he'd come across—and there _was_ a large Latino population in the Dallas area...

"That's the 'politically correct' explanation," Zeb scoffed, shaking his head. "Texas is so overrun with Mexicans that Mexico oughta take the damn land back." He looked mad enough to spit, but, when he glanced back at Jack, his expression was eerily composed. Only his eyes betrayed the passion of his convictions. "I can't just let my country go to hell, Jack. No, I choose to _fight _for the America we both know and love—to fight for _real Americans_ like you and me—but I can't do it alone."

"You want me to join you." Zeb's response was an eager nod. The younger man mulled it over. He, too, harbored similar sentiments, and engaging in political activism—at least, he assumed that was what Zeb meant—would certainly be more productive than sitting around smoking marjiuana and feeling sorry for himself like he'd done in Dallas...An image of his estranged wife, Catalina, suddenly popped into his head, accompanied by enough pain to nearly take his breath away. In his mind's eye, he saw the green-eyed brunette holding their son, Knox, and heard both of them laughing at the boy's cake-smeared face. The memory was from Knox's first birthday in mid-October, and it was the last time Jack had seen either of them.

He closed his tired eyes and sighed, knowing there was a good chance his presence wouldn't be welcome on Catalina's birthday later this month or even at Knox's _second_ birthday party.

"Well? What's on your mind, boy?"

Jack gave his longtime friend a genuinely apologetic look. "Sorry, Zeb. I admire what you're doing, but I'm not exactly in a good place these days...I'm too distracted to do much of anything," he admitted, his voice nearly cracking on the last three words.

"Ah." Somehow, Jack knew that Zeb understood his struggles implicitly, and that gave him a measure of comfort. Zeb cleared his throat before he resumed speaking. "You know, Jack, it takes passion, courage, and dedication to stand up for what you believe in. Those are the same things companies look for in potential employees." There was a sparkle in his eye as he added, "That's also the kind of man any _real_ American woman wants for a husband and the father of her children."

Jack's own blue eyes lit up with hope. "Do you really think I can get Catalina back? Knox, too?" He was beginning to feel more optimistic regarding the job situation, but nothing mattered more to him than being reunited with his wife and son. Since returning to Perry, he'd already kicked his drug habit—one of the reasons behind Catalina's decision to separate—and he was willing to do whatever else needed to be done in order to regain her trust.

Zeb shrugged. "Well, I can't promise anything, but I believe making a few changes will improve your odds." He continued to speak while Jack reflected on what he'd just been told. "If nothing else, do it for your son. Knox deserves to grow up in a safe America with strong values—not the immoral cesspool this country has become."

"You're right," Jack said slowly, his last remaining doubts evaporating. He had a moral obligation to his family as well as his country. Once he got his act together and overcame his demons, his wife and child surely wouldn't hesitate to return to his side. The couple sometimes clashed over various issues, but, at the end of the day, they both wanted the same thing: to give their son a loving and stable home. And what better place to do that than right here in Oklahoma, surrounded by family and friends who could help Knox experience some of the childhood traditions that Jack himself so cherished?

"So, you in?" The other man's voice cut into Jack's thoughts, reminding him that there was still plenty to be done before he could reclaim his piece of the American dream.

The blond nodded. "I'm in."

"Glad to hear it." Zeb's own smile was barely visible underneath his extensive facial hair, but patted Jack firmly on the shoulder in approval.

"Where do we begin?" the latter wondered out loud. He expected Zeb to say something along the lines of joining a protest, signing petitions, or boycotting some company, but Zeb's unexpected answer shocked him—in a good way.

"Florida."

_Florida. _

Catalina's home state.

* * *

_(Tampa, Florida: Valentine's Day.)_

AJ wanted to go home. Being surrounded by happy couples on Valentine's Day was her idea of hell.

Actually, AJ—full name April Jeanette Lee Mendez—would rather be at her ex-boyfriend's place, destroying his personal effects and those of his new girlfriend, who had surely wasted no time moving in. Better yet, she would _love_ to slap the taste from Dolph's mouth, then scratch out Eve's pretty green eyes...

But she _couldn't _do any of those things, because she'd just started working at Club Destiny, and something had told her she couldn't fool her new boss into letting her take a sick day on a day like today. Besides, her beloved Chihuahua, Nacho, had run up a big vet bill recently, and she needed every spare penny she earned in tips...

That's why AJ was here tonight, dressed in the white button-down shirt and black skirt that made up her uniform, her nearly waist-length dark brown hair secured in a neat ponytail—and a fake smile plastered across her face.

"AJ?" The tentative voice of bartender Ricardo Rodriguez somehow managed to penetrate the DJ's thumping electronic music as AJ came near. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," AJ replied in a chipper tone, but her unnatural smile tightened in such a way to imply that Ricardo should drop the subject. Still, she appreciated his concern, because Ricardo generally didn't go out of his way to interact with her. "Just...fine." The stocky twenty-something pursed his lips and simply nodded in response. AJ, meanwhile, collected the refills one of those happy couples had ordered.

A quick glance at the clock revealed that it was fifteen minutes to nine-almost time for tonight's live entertainment. She recalled that the singer and lead guitarist for the opening act, the Three Man Band, was Drew McIntyre-best friend of Club Destiny owner Alberto Del Rio. If they were even half as good as the local acts she'd overheard during her two weeks here, the rest of her shift would pass quickly.

She delivered the drinks and checked on another table before heading toward the newest table she'd been assigned. AJ came to a halt when she was close enough to recognize her customers, feeling as if her blood had turned to ice water within her veins.

_No! This can't be happening! _AJ screamed inwardly as she turned back to stare at Dolph Ziggler and Eve. The lovers were too wrapped up in their conversation to notice her at first. She remained immobile as a statue, her brown eyes glued to the couple, for so long that the two finally glanced up. Dolph's expression bounced from shock to smugness with lightning speed, but Eve regarded the other woman warily. She clearly remembered their last and only previous encounter, when AJ had pounded Eve with her fists and ripped out a handful of her golden brown curls. AJ forced herself to stumble closer, pen and notepad ready.

"Hey—AJ, is it?" Dolph pretended to read his ex-girlfriend's name tag. Beside him, Eve let out a nervous giggle. AJ, meanwhile, felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and tears well up in her eyes. Her stomach churned when she experienced a flashback to the night she'd walked in on the two in bed together. "We're ready to order, _AJ_." He grinned at Eve. "What do you want, babe?"

Eve sat up straighter, suddenly emboldened. "Hmm...I think I'll have a Cosmo." She looked AJ up and down with a sneer. "Are you even old enough to work here?"

"I'm almost twenty-six," AJ said defensively. As she scribbled down Eve's request, she wondered how loudly the other woman would scream if she stabbed her with a pen.

"Bourbon on the rocks for me," Dolph added. He tapped his watch pointedly while Eve combed her perfectly manicured fingers through his medium-length, platinum blond hair. "Hurry up with those drinks, or I'll tell your boss about the poor service."

AJ bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood and spun on her heel before she went ballistic on them. _I will get my revenge,_ she vowed silently. _Just you wait! _

Ricardo eyed her suspiciously but said nothing as she placed her enemies' order. Her smile returned while she finished making her rounds—and plotted. AJ finally returned to pick up their drinks, and it took every ounce of self control she had to walk at a normal place back to their table. Then, just when she got close enough to remove the drinks from her tray, she "tripped," completely soaking Dolph's white suit jacket, black tank top, and jeans and Eve's glamorous red dress.

"What the hell, AJ?" the former snapped while his new girlfriend was shrieking and flinging her hands about in despair.

"Oh, my God! I am _so_ sorry!" AJ gasped, but it was clear to the others that her apology didn't come from the heart. In all honesty, she was on the verge of hysterical laughter and struggling to keep a grin off her face.

"No, you're not!" Eve shrieked. She swiped in vain at her ruined dress with a handful of napkins, then fixed AJ with a murderous glare. "You did this on purpose, you crazy bitch!"

There was no word in the English language that AJ hated more than "crazy." It reminded her of her mental breakdown last year—a mental breakdown that resulted in a suicide attempt, five failed relationships, her best friend abandoning her, and countless therapy sessions with the annoying Dr. Shelby.

"_Crazy_? Who are you calling _crazy_?" AJ demanded in a shriek of her own. In the heat of the moment, she forgot every single anger management technique Dr. Shelby had taught her. She was even oblivious to the stares of nearby club patrons. All that mattered to her was beating Eve to a bloody pulp. The only thing stopping AJ from doing so was a pair of strong hands that unexpectedly clamped down on her shoulders as she lunged.

"You need to calm down, señorita," Alberto ordered in his thick Mexican accent, and the fight drained out of AJ like air being released from a balloon. Ricardo must have tipped him off that she was in a foul mood. She was vaguely aware that her boss was trying to smooth things out with the angry couple, but her mind kept drifting to possible worst case scenarios that might result from the incident, and the tears that had pooled in her eyes earlier finally began to spill.

Her panicked thoughts formed a single run on sentence: _Alberto is going to fire me and I'll have to live in my car again if I can't get another job and then the dogs and I will go hungry and-_

"Come with me, AJ," Alberto murmured in her ear, and she dutifully trudged alongside him in the opposite direction. Every step was heavy with dread and her heart pounded as if she were walking toward the gallows.

They went outside through the employee exit and stood on the sidewalk facing the parking lot. AJ shivered in the chilly night air, prompting Alberto to remove his expensive black suit jacket and drape it over her shoulders. Even from a distance, she could hear the booming, English-accented voice of Club Destiny's bouncer, Wade Barrett, barking out orders to people about to enter the building.

"Thank you," she whispered, surprised that Alberto would show her kindness after the scene she'd made. It gave her hope that maybe-just maybe-he wouldn't fire her on the spot.

"What _really_ happened?" he inquired, and AJ was afraid to meet his eyes for fear of giving herself away. "I want the truth. Was it an accident?"

AJ's tears became sobs, and—in between those sobs and gasps for air-the words began to tumble from her lips as if they couldn't escape fast enough. She rambled about Dolph's betrayal, how he and Eve had humiliated her inside Club Destiny, and even confessed to spilling their drinks on purpose.

"And I guess I just lost it and..._snapped,_" she concluded with a sniffle. "I'm really, _really _sorry, Mr. Del Rio. I know what I did was wrong and—and unprofessional."

"Oh, AJ," Alberto sighed, and she glanced up to see him shake his head. His handsome face was creased into a frown, but his dark eyes reflected a different emotion-one AJ struggled to identify. Amusement, perhaps? Sympathy? Understanding? Whatever it was, it vanished a few seconds later, replaced by stern disapproval. "I don't blame you for being upset, but you must control your temper. If something like this happens again-"

"It won't! I swear!" AJ protested, but Alberto held up a hand to silence her. She gulped and tucked her hair behind her ears with shaking fingers while she waited for him to finish speaking.

"Let me finish, por favor. If anything like this happens again, I'll have to fire you. I can't risk being sued or losing customers. Entiedo?" AJ nodded hastily to indicate that she understood perfectly. It was all she could do not to throw her arms around him in relief. Instead, she wiped away the last remaining tears and smeared mascara as best she could. "Bueno. Now go home, AJ. Your shift is over for tonight and -"

"Hey, Alberto!" A tall, shirtless man stuck his head out the door, speaking in a voice that AJ guessed was Scottish. His long, straight, chestnut-colored hair was held back from his face with a bandana and he wore black leather pants. He apparently lost his train of thought when he noticed AJ, however, for his expression turned somber and he stepped outside. "Everything all right?"

Both AJ and Alberto nodded, and AJ managed a close-lipped smile for the other man's benefit. She examined him from beneath lowered lashes and was pleased with what she saw.

"Good, good." Drew briefly directed his attention toward his best friend. "Five minutes to show time, man."

"I'll be right there," Alberto promised. AJ glanced up in time to see Drew nod-and was startled to realize that he was once again eying her with what appeared to be genuine concern.

"Thanks." He closed the distance between them and extended a hand to AJ in greeting. "I'm Drew McIntyre, by the way."

"AJ. AJ Mendez," she managed to squeak out, taking his hand. He smiled at her, and, as AJ looked into those beautiful baby blues accented by rings of black eyeliner, she felt her cheeks burn and her knees turn to jelly simultaneously. She wondered if Drew could see her blushing through her olive skin.

After Dolph's betrayal, AJ had vowed never again to give her heart away to a man-but she certainly wasn't opposed to having a wild one night stand with a hot rock star!


	2. The Beginning of the End

I want to thank General Herbison, the anonymous guest, and Ortonholic for reviewing the last chapter!

The story will be set in Tampa from now on unless otherwise noted, although the time frame will jump around quite a bit. Please read and review. :)

* * *

(Valentine's Day.)

AJ couldn't believe her luck.

After Drew had gone back inside, she'd used her puppy dog eyes on Alberto to persuade him into letting her stick around to watch the Three Man Band. AJ had learned long ago that few men were immune to her feminine charms, and Alberto, it seemed, was no exception.

Drew's band exceeded her expectations. AJ only had eyes for him, of course, but she had to admit that the others knew what they were doing. They had kind of a late eighties hard rock/metal sound with a modern twist. It was clear that Drew was the _real_ star of the show, however: He was blessed with a vocal range that rivaled some of the best singers AJ had ever heard, accomplished at guitar, and naturally charismatic.

_I will not fall in love...I will not fall in love..._AJ vowed silently, but her heart simply refused to listen to her head. The Scottish rocker had cast a spell over her from the moment she first laid eyes on him, and she could only hope that seducing him would cause her to lose interest in pursuing anything more.

After their set, the band loaded up their gear, then signed autographs and posed for pictures while the next band began to set up their equipment. AJ waited impatiently for the crowd to disperse because she wanted Drew's undivided attention. In the meantime, she made herself more presentable by shaking her hair loose of the ponytail holder, which she then slipped on her wrist alongside her usual black rubber bracelets, and undoing a few buttons on her blouse.

Drew broke into a grin when he saw her coming his way. "Hello again, AJ."

She beamed back at him. "Hi. Your band is really, _really_ amazing, by the way."

"Thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed the show."

For the next few seconds, AJ tuned out her surroundings and simply admired Drew's gorgeous face. Her gaze drifted to those full, pink lips of his, and she wondered how he'd react if she planted a kiss on him right here and now...AJ snapped out of her fantasy when she overheard someone clear their throat rather loudly. Blinking, she glanced past Drew, who had turned slightly, at the two men approaching from behind him.

Drew lightly smacked himself in the forehead. "Where are my manners? AJ, this is Heath"-He gestured to the pale, ginger-haired drummer with the goofy smile-"and Jinder." He then pointed out the more serious bassist, who had a darker complexion and wore something along the lines of a turban. Both were shirtless and wearing leather pants like Drew's. "AJ is a friend of mine," he explained to the men, and AJ felt warm inside at his description of her.

The three of them exchanged greetings, but their demeanor made it clear that Drew's band mates felt they'd intruded on a private moment between their front man and the mysterious brunette.

"We'll, uh, give you two some privacy," Heath murmured. He elbowed Jinder, who nodded in agreement, and they hastily disappeared.

"It's good to see a smile on that pretty face of yours," Drew murmured to AJ. "Is everything all right now?"

AJ was so surprised at being called "pretty" that all she could do was nod at first. No one ever used terms like "pretty" or "beautiful" to describe her, and she wouldn't have dreamed of applying them to herself, either. But was Drew's flattery sincere or was he just trying to sweet talk her?

"I'm good," she reassured him. "Great, actually...Hey, do you want something to drink? You must be thirsty." He'd finished a whole bottle of water during his band's set, but AJ was hoping to get Drew just drunk enough to take her to bed in case her attempts at seduction somehow failed.

Drew laughed and waved a hand dismissively. "Your shift is over, remember?"

The young woman's eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped involuntarily. "How did you know?" she finally managed to squeak out.

He smirked and rubbed a tendril of her dark hair between his fingertips, then released it. "Well, you're still wearing your uniform, but the other waitresses have their hair pulled back—and none of them have time to chat tonight."

AJ giggled. "You're very observant, Mr. McIntyre." She tilted her head in that beguiling way of hers, batted her eyelashes, and smiled. "So, what else do you know about me?"

Drew leaned down, closing the distance between them so that she could easily hear his lowered voice. "Well, I can tell by the look in your eyes that you're trying to seduce me." He groaned, and his expression exposed his inner conflict between lust and restraint. "I'm sorry, AJ. A year or two ago, I wouldn't have hesitated, but I'm not that kind of man anymore."

"_What_?" AJ cried, feeling as if Drew had just stuck a knife in her chest. She'd been looking forward to steamy consolation sex with him, and now she just wanted to go home and sob into her pillow. AJ feared this latest rejection might send her over the edge and straight into an instituition. She impulsively grabbed Drew's left hand and searched for a wedding ring-the only explanation she had for his lack of interest in her-only to find his ring finger bare. "Why? What's wrong with me?" Her brown eyes filled with tears all over again as she awaited his answer.

"Nothing," Drew said firmly. "You're beautiful." AJ folded her arms over her chest and scoffed at his words. "Believe it or not, the whole 'sex, drugs, and rock and roll' thing gets old after awhile. Besides, I think you really do want a relationship, but you're afraid of getting your heart broken." He smiled at her ruefully. "Take care of yourself, AJ."

"Wait!" AJ begged, grabbing Drew's arm in a panic as he started to walk away. Having realized too late that she'd jumped to false conclusions about Drew and his lifestyle, she was now terrified that an actual gentleman was about to vanish on her, never to be seen again. Drew appeared relieved that she hadn't let him go-about as relieved as AJ felt after he turned back to face her. "You're right," she admitted grudgingly. "I am...scared." The final word almost stuck in her throat.

He nodded, sympathy written all over his stunning features. "I understand." Drew paused, and AJ got the impression that he was temporarily lost in some painful memory of lost love. "But I _do_ like you, AJ, and I want to get to know you better," he said earnestly. "I was hoping we could go out for coffee sometime, but, if you're not interested..." He shrugged, leaving the sentence hanging, but those gorgeous blue eyes showed her how disappointed he would be if she turned down his offer.

"I...I have Sunday free." AJ's heart conflicted with her hormones on the subject, and she tried not to sound _too_ eager. She told herself she had no reason to be nervous. After all, Drew was only proposing coffee and conversation—not marriage! Besides, hadn't she ruined her friendship with John by pressuring him into reciprocating her romantic feelings? Maybe taking things slowly with Drew would be for the best.

The rock star's smirk returned. "What a coincidence! So do I."

* * *

(End of January.)

"No wonder you wanted to start here," Jack mumbled into the cell phone as he used his free hand to sort through a cardboard box filled with his belongings. "It's almost impossible to find anyone who can speak more than a few words of English." That was an exaggeration, of course, but it _was_ true that many of the people he had encountered seemed to converse mostly—if not exclusively—in Spanish.

The strange weather wasn't helping his mood any, either. He longed for the four distinct seasons and familiar comforts he associated with his hometown.

"I know it's a hellhole, but just remember why you're doing this, son." Zeb's soft spoken voice traveled reassuringly through the phone, making the short distance between their physical locations seem almost nonexistent.

"I will," Jack promised him before ending the call. After leaving Oklahoma two weeks ago, the men had briefly shared a cramped home on a few acres of "the damn swampland" Zeb's uncle had left to him in his will. Luckily, it hadn't taken Jack long to find an apartment within his budget—he still had some savings left to dip into—although Zeb turned him down when he offered to split a two-bedroom with him. The older man had insisted that they keep separate living quarters so that Jack's reunion with his wife and child wouldn't be delayed any longer than absolutely necessary.

Speaking of Catalina and Knox...Jack sucked in a breath as he removed a gold framed eight-by-ten of the whole family from the box. As he studied it, he recalled the pleasant afternoon in early April when he'd taken the picture, back when they still lived in Dallas. They had been out in the backyard, enjoying the warm, sunny day, and Catalina kept snapping pictures of Knox while he played. Just before they went inside for the day, Catalina had handed her prized digital camera to Jack, and, after scooping up their little boy in her arms, asked her husband if he would take a picture of the three of them together. They all gathered under the enormous elm tree and smiled for the camera. Jack thought his amateur family portrait had turned out pretty good, but his heart still ached for those better days.

He sighed heavily as he gave the photograph a place of honor on his nightstand, knowing that it would remind him of his new life purpose every time he glanced at it. Afterward, he reached into the box again to see what else it contained. Jack wasn't a man who liked to surround himself with material things, so he hadn't bothered to organize and label his few possessions when he'd packed them up.

His next task—putting away clothing—was soon interrupted by a shrill buzzing noise. Jack cast a suspicious glance through the open bedroom doorway as he pondered who might be ringing his doorbell. It couldn't be Zeb...For one thing, he'd just gotten off the phone with him, and he also remembered that Zeb intended to stop by _tomorrow_.

Jack rose to his impressive height, dusted his hands off on his jeans, and was marching through the apartment when the doorbell rang a second time. He swallowed his irritation and paused to glance through the peephole, half expecting one of those...people he'd mentioned to Zeb earlier.

Instead, he spotted a tiny brunette. His expression changed to one of mild curiosity as he swung open the door.

"Oh! Hi!" She greeted him in a chipper tone and with a bright smile. With her long, dark, wavy locks and thin build, she vaguely reminded him of Catalina, but this girl had brown eyes, a slightly deeper skin tone, and dressed like some kind of goth-tomboy hybrid. Jack assumed she was probably a teenager, but she might be in her early twenties at the latest. "I was hoping you'd be home...I'm AJ. I live across from you."

_Great, _Jack thought. _I've got fucking Pollyanna for a neighbor._ Well, at least she spoke English and talked like an American...With supreme effort, he forced himself to smile politely in return.

"Hey, AJ. I'm...Jake." Luckily, AJ didn't seem to notice the brief hesitation in his answer. Zeb had advised him against using his real name when dealing with strangers, and AJ's visit had forced Jack to come up with a new identity on the spot. He felt like an idiot for not thinking of something better—something that didn't sound like his real name—but it was too late to make a change now.

"Nice to meet you, Jake. Um, I would have brought you cookies or something, but I know that some people are vegans and others are trying to cut out sweets, so..." She shrugged, visibly embarrassed by her rambling. "_Anyway_, I just wanted to say hello and welcome you to the neighborhood. Let me know if you need anything!"

"Thanks. I appreciate it." Jack, however, had no intention of ever taking AJ up on her offer, and his aggravation seeped into his tone despite his efforts to remain neutral. He would rather avoid the annoyingly perky young woman as much as possible from now on.

AJ gave him a little wave and trotted back to her own apartment, much to Jack's relief. He was quick to close the front door and lock it.

Part of him wished he'd never come to this godforsaken place. Everything about it grated on his nerves.

Another part of him knew he was _exactly_ where he needed to be.


	3. More Than Words

Thank you Ortonholic and General Herbison for reviewing the last chapter!

* * *

(February 12th.)

"What happened?" Jack demanded, his eyes wide with horror as he opened the front door to his mentor. Zeb was sporting a bloody lip and his skin was on the pale side. The younger man quickly ushered him inside and closed the door behind him.

"Some Mexican-looking punk _hit_ me. That's what happened," Zeb mumbled as he took a seat in Jack's aged leather armchair.

"Stay right there," Jack called over his shoulder as he dashed into the kitchen. He tossed a handful of ice cubes in a plastic sandwich bag, zipped it up, and handed the makeshift ice pack to Zeb. "Here."

"Well, thanks," he answered, sounding surprised. He gingerly placed the bag against his swollen lip and visibly winced the second it made contact with his injury.

"Are you okay?" It was common courtesy to ask, even though Jack hadn't noticed any broken or missing teeth. He settled down on the sofa opposite Zeb.

Zeb waved him off. "Don't worry about me, boy. I'll be all right."

They sat around in agonizing silence for several minutes while Jack waited for Zeb to recover enough to explain. In the meantime, Jack fantasized about getting his hands on the responsible party and beating some respect into him. At last, Zeb removed the ice pack and deposited it carelessly on the coffee table. The swelling was already beginning to subside.

He leaned back in the chair and huffed out a loud breath. "I was goin' for a walk when I spotted a young couple talking loudly in Spanish. I reminded them that this is America and we speak English here. They ignored me, so I ordered them to either speak English or go back to whatever wretched third world country they came from. That's when the boy said they were born right here in Florida, called me a four-letter word, and smacked me in the mouth."

"Bastard!" Jack snarled between clenched teeth. His hands had automatically curled into fists in the middle of his friend's story. "Did you report him for assault? His ass should be in jail right now."

Zeb shook his head. "They were gone before I could do anything or I would have thrown both of them into the ocean myself."

"I'll take care of it. Just give me a description." He wasn't sure how he was going to do it, but he nonetheless silently vowed to hunt down that son of a bitch and make him pay. Anyone else would probably have said Zeb got what was coming to him—that he was asking for trouble by sticking his nose where it didn't belong—but not Jack. _His_ version of the story painted Zeb as an innocent victim: A man had been disrespected and viciously assaulted for merely exercising his right to free speech. It was sickening.

"Ah, you know their kind, Jack." Zeb scowled and shrugged at the same time. "They all look the same to me...You having any luck converting fellow Americans to the cause?"

Jack shook his head. He could almost taste the anger he felt toward many of his 'fellow Americans' at the back of his throat, bitter as bile. His recent attempts to engage others in meaningful conversation about the country's downfall always resulted in either hostile arguments or the other person simply refusing to participate and walking away.

"Same here. Some of them have no doubt been brainwashed by the liberal media, but others...There are people who _know_ we're right, Jack, but they're scared to admit it—and, until _that _happens, we won't get anywhere." Without warning, the older man slammed his fist into the chair's arm. "The time for talk has passed, son. People won't come around unless we take things to another level."

"What are you suggesting?" Jack inquired, scratching his lightly-bearded chin while he awaited his mentor's answer. Zeb might be sixty-three years old, but age hadn't dulled his quick mind a bit, and Jack sometimes struggled to keep up with the other man's thought process.

Zeb's eyes all but glowed with enthusiasm. "We gotta convince them there's worse things than 'intolerance'-like failing to heed our warnings." He paused before adding the obvious: "And, if necessary, we use violence to get our point across."

* * *

(February 17th.)

"Being a rock star sounds so exciting and glamorous," AJ sighed, and Drew couldn't help but chuckle at how wistful she sounded.

In response, he put on a serious face and adopted a confidential tone. "Yeah, being a local rock star is all that—and more."

AJ giggled and sipped at her caramel macchiato. "Better than being a cocktail waitress—not that there's anything _wrong_ with that," she added hastily. "I mean, I have a really nice boss and the tips are good, but..." The sentence died an awkward death on her now-pursed lips.

"But you want to do more with your life," Drew prompted, and she nodded. It was only their first date, yet he was certain that his initial impression of AJ was right on the money. Although she might play the role of temptress, her dark eyes alternately reflected intelligence, sensitivity, and humor. "Hey, I understand. We all have to pay the bills somehow, right?"

"Right." AJ grinned and pointed to the mug of black coffee by Drew's hands. "You've barely touched your coffee."

"Well, that's because you're such a lovely distraction." Naturally, AJ's cheeks flushed delicately at the compliment. To appease her, Drew took a generous sip. The beverage was starting to cool off yet still retained plenty of warmth. "So, what _are _your dreams, AJ?"

"Let's see...I want to open an animal sanctuary, create comic books, and make video games." AJ ticked her goals off on her fingers, one by one, as she spoke, and her blush became crimson-tinged when she noticed Drew staring at her. He realized that she expected him to be judgmental of her goals. Well, he hadn't known what to expect before she had answered, and he intended to leave her equally surprised.

"Impressive. I like a woman with ambition." He also liked that she was a fellow creative type with a big heart. AJ's vibrant personality was like a breath of fresh air after all of the self-absorbed groupies Drew had been with.

A shy smile crept across AJ's youthful features. "Did you always want to be a rock star?"

He nodded. "I did, yeah, but it wasn't 'practical'-so I got a degree in criminology instead." AJ's eyes lit up with sudden understanding at his insight regarding human behavior. "I was in a couple of bands back home"-No matter where Drew currently lived, home would always be Ayr, Scotland-"but I took a break from music when I moved to the States. Alberto introduced me to Heath and Jinder a few months ago and that's when we formed the Three Man Band."

"I'm glad. It would be a shame to waste all that talent." AJ propped her elbows on the table, folded her hands, and rested her chin on top of them, gazing attentively at Drew as she did so. Aside from his mother and his ex-wife, he couldn't remember the last time a woman had given him her full attention during a conversation. It was a real boost to one's ego. "Is being a cop your day job?"

"I'm not a cop. I'm a profiler." He realized what he said and sheepishly corrected himself: "_Was_ a profiler."

AJ blinked. "Like on _Criminal Minds_?" His words seemed to have stirred excitement within her, much to his amusement. Profiling was more analytical than adrenaline-filled.

Drew nodded again. "Something like that. I worked with the police on unsolved crimes." Memories of the few murders and missing person cases he hadn't managed to solve began to creep up on him, and Drew took a deep breath, trying to chase away the inevitable guilt trip.

"But not anymore." She tilted her head and studied him as if trying to pluck the reason behind his career change straight from his brain.

"No."

"Why did you stop, um, profiling?"

He shrugged. "Personal reasons." AJ's eyes met his, demanding a more detailed explanation, but Drew wasn't about to oblige. It was too soon to burden her with his grief. He wanted to wait at least a few dates before he shared something so personal and painful—assuming she wanted to go out with him again. "I don't want to give away _all_ the mystery on a first date," he added jokingly, hoping to lighten the mood.

The distraction worked—and took the conversation in a direction he didn't expect.

"The 'first date'?" AJ questioned, eyebrows arched suspiciously. "As in...the first of many?"

A nervous smile tugged at Drew's lips. "I sure hope so, but it's up to you, lass." Although he knew AJ hadn't intended on making a long-term commitment, she seemed to be enjoying his company, and he thought the odds were probably in his favor.

AJ impulsively leaned across the table kissed him on the cheek, then giggled at his startled reaction. Drew's flesh tingled and grew hot where the brunette's lips had brushed against it.

"Oh, this is only just the beginning," she reassured him with a smirk.

* * *

(February 20th.)

"What's on your mind, señor? You've been...distracted all night."

Alberto had been gazing into his untouched glass of red wine so intently that it was as if he expected to see the future reflected within. Hearing Ricardo's concerned voice snapped him out of his reverie in a hurry, though, and he smiled apologetically at the younger man, who was leaning across the bar, brows furrowed with worry. Club Destiny had just closed for the night, and they were the only people still inside—although Wade remained on guard duty outside the main entrance. As usual, he insisted on staying until everyone else had already gone home.

In light of this afternoon's events, Alberto was especially grateful for the former bare knuckle fighter's protection. He subconsciously touched the right side pocket on his pants and felt the outline of the folded lump within.

"Señor?" Ricardo repeated a little more urgently, and Alberto was forced to make a decision on the spot. He was tempted to pretend that he was dwelling on Drew's potentially disastrous relationship with AJ, since the subject _had_ crossed his mind a few times, but keeping the letter a secret might put even Ricardo in danger.

It was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

"This came in the mail today," Alberto explained as he unfolded the paper and slid it across the bar. He watched the curiosity melt from Ricardo's face, leaving behind an unflattering ashen cast and a look of wide-eyed horror. The other man dropped the letter as if it had suddenly caught fire and turned back to his employer.

"Who would wish harm on _you_, señor?" Ricardo's voice trembled as he spoke.

Alberto shrugged and dragged his fingers through his black, slicked-back hair. "I do not know, amigo." He was guilty of being arrogant and flaunting his wealth at times, and it was likely that he'd made a few enemies since coming to America, but the letter was more political than personal in nature. Again, he found himself scrutinizing every word and searching for hidden clues...

_AMERICA IS FOR AMERICANS! GO BACK TO MEXICO OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES! _

_Signed,_

"_We the People"_

The envelope, Alberto recalled, had been postmarked from Tampa just the day before, but there was no return address, and both his home address and the threat were typed as opposed to handwritten. It wouldn't have surprised him to learn there wasn't a trace of evidence left behind. "The People" were taking great pains to remain anonymous—for now.

"What are you going to do, sir?" Ricardo asked quietly.

Alberto frowned while he contemplated his options. "Take precautions, increase security around Club Destiny—and tell my employees so they can protect themselves." He hadn't realized that he'd taken his anger out on his napkin until he glanced down and noticed the shredded pieces scattered across the counter. "We are all familia here. We look out for each other."

He was not frightened for himself; Alberto owned two Dobermans and a handgun, and both his home and business were outfitted with state of the art security systems. Besides, he suspected the people behind the letter were cowards who just wanted to scare him. But, if they really _were _maniacs who hated all immigrants and planned to back up their threats with violence...With a heavy heart, Alberto realized that many of his friends, employees, and club patrons would be potential victims. He groaned and massaged his temples as he recognized the band of pressure around his skull that inevitably preceeded a migraine.

"You are not going to la policía?"

"Let's hope we don't have to," Alberto answered grimly. He vowed not to allow these bigoted perros to intimidate him-and followed his vow with a silent prayer, hoping they didn't have other, more sinister intentions.


	4. Un-American

Thank you Malek, General Herbison, and NoleeMarieLacroix for reviewing the last chapter! I'm so happy with the response to this story...Please continue reading and reviewing.

* * *

(February 21st.)

The atmosphere inside Club Destiny reminded AJ of storm clouds rolling in. All of the employees had smiles on their faces and traces of fear in their eyes.

The metaphorical thunder had sounded, and now everyone was waiting for lightning to strike and the skies to open up.

She busied herself with placing and filling orders, but it wasn't enough to distract her from the overbearing tension surrounding her. Alberto had briefed his employees on the situation prior to opening the doors to the public, and his manner had alarmed AJ even more than the threat itself. Her boss was confident and quick to smile by nature, and she couldn't shake the mental image of his eerily somber expression, nor could she forget his distressed tone of voice.

The lighting above shifted from blue to green again, both of which mingled with red and white lights. AJ might be jumping to conclusions, but she suspected it was a small act of defiance on Alberto's part—a nod to the flags of both the country he lived in and his homeland. The thought elicited a genuine smile from her, albeit temporarily.

Her smile vanished the instant she glanced over at one of the tables along the east wall and saw Drew taking in his surroundings, one of those fancy imported bottled waters in hand. AJ was seized with panic. Her heart skipped a beat and her stomach immediately twisted into a knot. She ignored her previous obligations and forced her rubbery legs to take her over to the man she loved instead.

"You shouldn't be here!" she hissed over the loud dance music—which, she noticed, featured a female vocalist singing in Spanish. AJ struggled with the impulse to raise her voice even more. Business would take a dramatic hit if any of the patrons overheard that there was danger lurking nearby. "Didn't Alberto tell you what's going on?"

Drew nodded. "Yes, he did, lassie, but I wanted to make sure you were safe."

"I _am_ safe—I'm an American. It's people like you these monsters want to hurt!" Tears pooled in her brown eyes, and Drew didn't hesitate to reach out and squeeze her hand. AJ took a deep, shuddering breath and attempted to rein in her emotions.

"I don't care," Drew told her, and his stern expression informed AJ that nothing she said or did would change his mind. "You work here. That makes you a target." He attempted to look more cheerful for her benefit. "Go back to work, sweetheart. I'll see you later."

AJ nodded miserably and returned the hand squeeze before resuming her waitress duties. A tear trickled down her cheek as she made her way through the packed club, and she was quick to blot it with her thumb. She wasn't afraid for herself, but, if something were to happen to Drew, Alberto, or one of her many foreign-born friends...

* * *

(February 24th. )

Drew was more than a little concerned about AJ's well being.

Alberto had warned him—in a diplomatic way—that AJ's emotional state was fragile, and Drew knew the situation they were caught up in had the potential to push her over the edge.

"I hope you're not offended by me following you home every night." Drew would have done it even if he was comfortable with the flat AJ had chosen—which he wasn't. Security here was limited to locks on the doors and windows and small dogs for those lucky enough to have them. Every time he drove off after kissing AJ goodnight and seeing her inside, Drew's conscience nagged at him for leaving her alone. She should be living somewhere with a gate and a security system, but they'd had that discussion already, and she had insisted that it was the only place in Tampa she could afford.

The moment Drew set foot in her front hallway, he was overwhelmed by the desire to stay.

AJ's expression relaxed enough to form a tight smile. "I think it's sweet, actually." The tension she carried around began to cloud her face again, however, and she sought comfort from Nacho. She scooped up the cream-colored Chihuahua and pressed him against her chest.

Drew sighed as he watched the brunette cuddle her dog. With his background, he knew that extremists like the ones who had threatened Alberto would stop at nothing to achieve their goals—and he worried that AJ's Puerto Rican heritage might put her in additional danger. They hadn't known each other long, but she was already precious to Drew, and he couldn't justify continuing to play Russian Roulette with her safety.

"I can't do this anymore, AJ."

"Do what?" AJ's muscles tensed and Nacho yipped in protest as his owner's arms tightened around his tiny frame. She murmured an apology to the dog and set him gingerly on the floor before facing Drew in alarm.

"I can't leave you alone at night. It's too dangerous."

AJ scowled and folded her arms across her chest. "I can take care of myself."

Drew sincerely doubted that. AJ worked out regularly and had more defined muscles than most women, but she was still only five-two and couldn't weigh more than a hundred pounds. Besides, he'd learned from personal experience that a determined, prepared assailant could make a victim of even the strongest, toughest man. The odds were not in AJ's favor, to put it mildly-but, if Drew kept her company, he might be able to do _something_ to protect her...

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, messing up his ponytail in the process. "Listen, I'm not trying to be sexist, but...There's safety in numbers, you know, and neither of us is getting much sleep these days..." The former profiler inhaled and exhaled while he tried to compose his thoughts, which were bouncing all over the place. "Until those bastards are arrested, I _insist _on sleeping here—unless, of course, you'd rather stay at my place." He offered up a smile in hopes of defusing some of the defensive vibes radiating from AJ.

She gnawed at her lower slip as she mulled over her options. "All right," she conceded after a long pause. Her dark eyes suddenly twinkled with mischief. "Does that involve sleeping _with_ me?"

"Probably." Drew smirked at her, but that smirk was merely an attempt to conceal his emotions. His resistance was already wearing thin, and AJ's suggestive tone had made his heart race. There was something about the girl that threatened to bring his inner bad boy out of hiding..."In the meantime, I'm content to sleep on the sofa."

* * *

(February 25th.)

"Unbelievable," Jack muttered, throwing the newspaper to the floor in disgust. Almost a week had passed since he'd mailed the menacing letter, and, to his amazement, Del Rio's club was _still_ open. Then, adding insult to injury, the parasite even had the nerve to advertise an upcoming "Viva Mexico" theme night in yesterday's paper!

Jack glanced at his watch and groaned when he realized it was just after two in the morning. The adrenaline now pumping through his system ensured that his insomnia wouldn't be cured any time soon.

It was Zeb's idea to target Club Destiny after scouring one of those freebie papers offered in the grocery stores and coming across an ad much like this one. He suggested they give the "slimy Mexican" about a week to shut down his club before taking more drastic measures.

If Alberto Del Rio wound up in the hospital or his business got vandalized or even burned to the ground...Well, it would be his own damn fault, Jack reasoned. They'd warned him, and he'd refused to cooperate. The only thing stopping them now was the increased security at Club Destiny, but Jack was confident they would somehow find a way around that obstacle.

He smirked in spite of his foul mood. It was time to prove that Zeb Colter and Jack Hager weren't just all talk and no action.

His index finger hovered over the remote control's power button, but he changed his mind at the last second and placed the device on the coffee table instead. Late night television had little to offer someone as conservative as him—and even less without cable.

Jack found himself wanting to watch one of the classic movies he'd seen with Zeb and his father back home. In those films, the villains were _always _foreigners, the heroes were _always_ red-blooded Americans, and good _always_ conquered evil in the end...

He was pulled from his meaningless musings by the sound of laughter outside his front door. One voice was high-pitched and girlish—AJ's, undoubtedly—but the other was deeper and masculine.

The walls in this particular apartment complex were thinner than cardboard. Jack shuddered to think of some of the other things he'd overheard while living here.

He marched over to the window and used his fingers to create a gap between the blind slats—just wide enough to see through without drawing attention to himself. He frowned slightly as he watched AJ, who was holding hands with a strange man, approach her apartment.

"I'm glad you decided to let me stay," the man told her, and Jack's ears pricked up at his accent. He guessed it was either Scottish or Irish in origin but couldn't say for sure. Like Zeb, he often failed to grasp the subtle nuances between similar accents—not that it mattered. A foreigner was a foreigner, and none of them belonged in America.

Besides, this one looked particularly untrustworthy. He was probably close to Jack's height of six-seven, although not quite as muscular, and his brown hair was repulsively long. Like many Americans, the immigrant was dressed casually in blue jeans and a black T-shirt, but Jack had already stereotyped him as bad news.

AJ turned slightly as she unlocked her door to flash him an adoring grin and said something in response. Jack couldn't quite make out her exact words, but it was obvious that she was glad, too. The couple shared a quick kiss—AJ on tiptoe, her boyfriend in a bowed position—before the young woman grabbed the man's hand again and led him inside her apartment, allowing the door to swing shut behind them.

The sight was enough to nearly turn Jack's stomach. He let out the breath that he hadn't realized he was holding and paced the living room while he decided what to do. He disliked AJ, but she _was_ a fellow American, and he had a moral obligation to protect her from one of..._them_. He recalled a conversation he'd had with Zeb about sneaky foreigners who married naïve Americans for citizenship purposes, and AJ would likely be the victim of such a scheme if he didn't intervene—and soon.

Both Club Destiny and Alberto Del Rio faded from his mind as he contemplated the risks to his innocent neighbor. Somehow, logic managed to override his burning desire to drag the son of a bitch from AJ's apartment by that long, greasy hair of his and kick his ass. He asked himself what Zeb would do if he were in his shoes, and the answer was clear as day: Zeb would wait until AJ was alone and approach her with his concerns.

Jack swore to do just that tomorrow. And, if AJ refused to believe the truth...Well, Zeb surely had a solution to _that _problem, too.


	5. Declaring War

Thank you Malek, General Herbison, and rko Stazy Orton for reviewing the last chapter! I hope the length and drama in this chapter help make up for the amount of time it took me to update. :)

* * *

(Feb. 26th.)

"_What are you doing?" Jack demanded, even though the answer was painfully obvious. He rubbed his neck, which was stiff after an awkward night sprawled across the couch, and blinked in disbelief as he watched his wife throw articles of clothing into an open suitcase. "Please, Cat...You're making a mistake..." _

_She whirled around to face him, and the anguish reflected in her watery green eyes made Jack feel as if he'd just had a knife plunged into his heart._

"_The only 'mistake' I made was putting up with your crap for so long!" she hissed. "It's not fair to me and it's _definitely_ not fair to Knox. He deserves better."_

"_I can change!" Jack argued pathetically, even though he feared it was too late. Their marriage had been on the rocks since he'd been dismissed from his job and found solace in substance abuse, but Catalina had been more than patient with him. Bailing him out of jail was more than even she could endure, however. "I'll do anything...Just give me another chance-"_

_Catalina's hands went to her hips. "You want another chance? You want to save our marriage?" Jack nodded desperately, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Fine. Stop smoking pot, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and get another job." She ticked off each request on her manicured fingers, one at a time. "Until then, I'm out of here—and I'm taking Knox with me."_

Jack awoke from his afternoon nap drenched in sweat, his heart filled with enough sorrow to last a lifetime. He was already in a foul mood because he hadn't yet been able to get AJ alone, and dreaming about the worst day of his life only dragged Jack deeper into his own personal hell.

He wasn't the type of man who was comfortable airing his grievances in the presence of a therapist or even a good friend, but he knew from past experience there was _something_ he could do to chase away the memories that haunted him like vengeful ghosts...

In the absence of marijuana, alcohol became his new best friend. After college, Jack rarely indulged in more than a beer or two per day, but he knew it would take more than that to erase the self-loathing and guilt that had surfaced after his flashback.

He drank throughout the afternoon and well into the evening—drank until his mental images of Catalina and Knox became so blurred that he couldn't remember specifics without referring to a photograph. He wasn't thinking about his obligations to Zeb and their political causes, either, or he surely wouldn't have gotten shitfaced in the first place...

By the time nine o'clock rolled around, Jack was feeling a bit restless from being cooped up in his apartment so much. In his inebriated state, he came up with what he thought was a brilliant method to blow off steam: He was going to hunt down one of the countless immigrants in this shitty town and beat them to a bloody pulp. An evil smirk formed on Jack's face as he staggered out of his apartment. In Tampa, that would be easy as shooting fish in a barrel.

Jack was so intent on targeting either a Latino or AJ's boyfriend that he was almost dismayed when the first person he stumbled across was a lithe—and likely beautiful—blonde instead.

Her back was to him while she bent over the driver's seat of a red sports car further down the parking lot—Jack was too inebriated to determine the vehicle's make or model—and rummaged around for something on the passenger side. Loose, platinum blonde curls hung almost to her waist, and black pants hugged her behind so perfectly the fabric might as well have been spray-painted on.

Jack licked his lips as a different kind of predatory instinct took over, replacing his fantasies of assaulting immigrants. It had been _months_ since he'd enjoyed the pleasures of a woman's body, and he knew he'd regret passing up a golden opportunity like this one.

He was just sober enough to make sure the coast was clear—no one else around, no open blinds or curtains in sight—before staggering over to her. He hoped his intended conquest was an American girl and not some foreign whore.

The blonde slammed the driver's side door and turned around just as he came up behind her. Her purse landed on the concrete, her blue eyes took on a distinctly saucer-like appearance, and her glossed, candy pink lips fell open in a gasp of shock. Jack slapped a hand over her mouth before she came to her senses and began screaming hysterically like women always did in the movies and on television. He kept the struggling blonde pinned against the car with one hand while he opened the back door, then grabbed a clump of silky hair and shoved her across the back seat. Jack had been too rough with the young woman, and she smacked her head on the opposite door, which caused her to shriek.

Her terror excited him...It turned him on.

"Please," she whimpered as he flipped her onto her back and straddled her the best he could given the cramped conditions, then pulled the door shut behind him. Tears began to leak from her eyes, dragging some of the black liner she wore along for the ride. "Please don't hurt me...I-I've got some money in my purse-"

"Shut up." Jack nearly laughed out loud at her words—although he _did_ contemplate taking her up on the offer. But _hurt_ her? He'd have this girl screaming in ecstasy within minutes! She might act innocent, but she was a slut—like all sluts, she wore too much makeup and clothing that left little to the imagination—and he knew she craved his touch as much as he longed to touch her. Sure, her eyes were closed and she continued to cry softly, yet she was also writhing beneath him in anticipation!

Jack clumsily attempted to remove his belt with the intention of tying her wrists, grateful for the car's tinted windows and the privacy they offered.

The young woman, who was probably in her mid-twenties at most, cautiously opened her eyes again to see what her attacker was doing. She watched intently as Jack finished unbuckling his belt and slid it through the loops.

"What...What about your wife?" she rasped out, her gaze locked onto his left hand. Jack glanced down and realized she had noticed the gold band on his ring finger.

_Wife_...A moment of clarity shot through him like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. Catalina might have walked out on him months ago and taken Knox with her, but she hadn't initiated a divorce yet, and that had to mean part of her was still in love with him... Knowing that, how could he even _think _of cheating on the most beautiful woman on Earth with some Barbie lookalike? Cat would never forgive him for this if he went through with his plans...

He rested his right forearm against the blonde's throat, causing her to gag and scratch at his flesh like a cornered cat with her long, red fingernails.

"I know where you live, bitch," he snarled. Well, he had a general idea at best, but at least she seemed to believe him. "Don't tell _anyone_ what happened tonight or I'll kill you. Understand?"

"Y-Yes," she managed to rasp out, and he withdrew his arm so she could breathe freely again.

Once he was reassured that the little whore had no intentions of snitching, Jack staggered backwards out of the car, nearly banging his own head against the low roof in the process. He returned to his apartment on unsteady legs and collapsed on the sofa in a slouched position.

He dropped his face into his hands and groaned as he realized just how close he had come to screwing up everything that mattered to him.

* * *

(February 28th.)

Alberto choked back the lump in his throat as he watched, bleary-eyed, from a safe distance while firefighters attempted to put out the flames threatening to consume Club Destiny. Thick black smoke billowed into the already dark sky. He coughed, shielding his nose and mouth with a sleeved arm, and backed away a little further into the parking lot.

At a quarter to five in the morning, the owner of a nearby store had roused Alberto from bed with an alarming phone call: "Your club's on fire. I called nine-one-one." If the man hadn't come to work early as usual and spotted the carnage, there wouldn't be even the slightest chance of saving Destiny.

This fire was no accident. He was positive of that. It was a declaration of war from "The People"—and every immigrant in the Tampa area was a potential target.

Alberto thanked his lucky stars even as he seethed over the damage done. Countless innocents would have suffered—and almost certainly died—had the fire been set while during business hours.

Despite being exhausted and shell shocked, he had been alert enough to grab a crucial piece of evidence from his nightstand before rushing to the scene of the crime. He clenched the crumpled paper tightly in his fist, wishing he'd gone to the police instead of taking matters into his own hands.

After witnessing his club nearly burn to ashes right before his eyes, Alberto vowed never to make that same mistake again.

* * *

Drew was a heavy sleeper, but AJ nonetheless tiptoed around the apartment as she began her morning routine. She felt guilty about starting breakfast while he was still asleep, so she bypassed the usual toast and coffee in favor of a glass of water and a handful of cereal. The dogs couldn't wait, however, and she filled their bowls before their big brown eyes burned holes through her.

AJ overheard her ring tone while she was in the bathroom brushing tangles out of her hair, and she rushed to the coffee table and scooped up her cellphone before the bouncy electronic song and girly vocals awoke Drew. Alberto's name appeared on Caller I.D., and the brunette's curiosity dissolved into suffocating fear. She just _knew_ something big—something _terrible_—had happened.

"There was a fire at Destiny."

"_What_?" AJ shrieked. She cast an anxious glance over her shoulder at the closed bedroom door, then lowered her voice. "What happened? Is...Was it arson?" Although AJ phrased her last sentence as a question, she already knew the answer.

"Si," Alberto responded wearily. "It happened sometime before five this morning...Thank God no one was there at the time." The tragedy had already taken its toll on Alberto: He was only thirty-five, but now he sounded old and tired to AJ.

"How bad is the damage?"

"It's bad, AJ...Destiny isn't gone, but the outside, bar, and kitchen have all been destroyed. It'll be awhile before we're back in business." _That_ was an understatement...

The bedroom door creaked open, and AJ knew that Drew had hesitated in the doorway, awaiting an explanation.

"I am so, _so_ sorry, Alberto. Let me know if there's anything I can do, okay?" AJ had no idea what she_ could_ do for him, though, and she hated feeling so helpless.

"Gracias, senorita. I appreciate it."

AJ, fingers trembling, placed the phone back in its previous location. The reality still hadn't completely sunk in. Surely, she was dreaming, and she'd wake up in her bed at any second now...Then she'd go to work later and discover both the exterior and interior of Destiny still intact, exactly the way she remembered it-

"AJ?" Drew's worried tone was accompanied by footsteps, and she pivoted slowly to face him as he approached. "What's going on, love?"

"Someone tried to burn down Club Destiny," she replied, voice cracking.

"Ah, God," Drew groaned. AJ's nerves finally shattered, and sobs began to wrack her small frame. Drew slipped an arm around her shoulder and guided her over to the couch.

_He's next, _she thought, peering miserably through her curtain of hair at Drew. _He's next..._

"Do you know what this means? _No one_ is safe anymore! You know how paranoid Alberto is about security...If whoever did this could get close enough to set fire to his club, then they could easily _kill you_, Drew!" AJ dissolved into another round of hysterical tears, and, although Drew gently rubbed her back, she was inconsolable.

Drew had slept—literally, slept—in AJ's bed starting on his first overnight visit when she'd woken up screaming from a nightmare. His soothing presence had managed to lull her back to sleep, but she refused to elaborate on the details. In that particular dream, she'd witnessed a shadowy assailant stab Drew to death, and now she was terrified that maybe, just maybe, the nightmare was actually a premonition.

He didn't respond at first, although he continued to hold the traumatized young woman and massage her back.

"This is only the b-beginning, isn't it?" A sniffling AJ pushed her hair out of her eyes and stared intently at Drew, demanding honesty from him. It wasn't hard to imagine Tampa becoming a war zone like some of the places she saw in the news. "People are going to get hurt and even _die_, and-"

"No," he said firmly. "The police are involved now, and they'll find the people who are responsible and bring them to justice. They can't stay anonymous forever."

"I wish I could believe that," AJ mumbled, shaking her head. True, Drew was an expert on the subject, and technology meant more crimes were being solved than ever before, but part of AJ remained cynical. She suspected that Drew would say anything to ease her suffering, even if it meant lying to her. Another thought suddenly occurred to her—one less awful but still troubling. "Oh, God...I'm out of a job, Drew. I don't have much money as it, and I've got rent and bills to pay and dogs to take care of, and-"

"Sweetheart, _calm down_." Drew took AJ's face between his hands and looked so deeply into her eyes that she almost wondered if he could see straight through to her soul. "Everything is gonna be just fine. I can help you out if you need it."

"I-I can't ask you to do that!" AJ argued, mortified. Growing up, she had been homeless for years—alternately living in cars, hotels, and homeless shelters—and, as an adult, she worked her ass off to ensure she'd never be financially dependent on anyone else again. It was even more humiliating when the party offering assistance was a man she had just started dating.

"Then consider it a loan and pay me back when you get a chance." When AJ started to protest again, Drew placed a finger on her lips and shook his head. "Accepting help doesn't make you weak, AJ. It makes you human. Besides, this is an emergency. You'll be back on your feet as soon as Alberto rebuilds."

AJ sighed. "Okay—but only if it's absolutely necessary."

"Deal." Drew smiled, just a little, and sealed the pact with a kiss. His actions startled a laugh out of AJ and she turned her head away.

"How can you even _think_ of kissing me right now? I'm a mess." Crying always left her with puffy eyes and a reddish tint to her skin, and her hair was still a mess. The only way she could possibly look worse was if she'd slept in her eye makeup...A second later, AJ's conscience kicked in, and she mentally berated herself for obsessing over something so shallow when Alberto's club was in ruins.

Drew slipped a finger under her chin and turned AJ's face back in his direction, causing her to push those dark thoughts aside.

"You're always beautiful to me, AJ," he reassured her, and she responded with a searing kiss that only ended when both needed to come up for air.

As his blue eyes met her brown ones again, the chemistry between them finally ignited. After relieving some of their tension-both sexual and general-by making out for awhile, Drew concluded they should move to the bedroom, and AJ agreed. Inside the bedroom, they removed their shirts, and AJ had just pulled off her pajama bottoms when Drew picked her up and gingerly deposited her on the bed. He then surprised her by reaching into the pocket of his dark wash jeans.

"Hey! I thought you wanted to wait," she teased.

He shrugged. "I did, but it never hurts to be prepared." Drew's baby blues clouded over with lust as he took in the sight of AJ clad only in her bra and underwear, and he quickly stripped her of those and left a trail of sensual kisses down AJ's throat—much to her delight.

She soon discovered yet another difference between Drew and the other men she'd been with. He didn't fuck her without regard to her feelings—he _made love_ to her, deriving pleasure from AJ's enjoyment of every kiss and every touch. The horrors of earlier this morning all but vanished as intense, blissful heat spread throughout her body.

AJ was filled with gratitude as she looked up into Drew's enraptured face. "Thank you," she whispered, touching his cheek. "You always know how to make me feel better." She wanted to add that she loved him, but she was afraid her confession might scare him away. In this day and age, being intimate with a man wasn't _that_ big of a deal, but using the "l" word sure was.

He smirked. "The feeling is mutual, love."

Being wrapped in the arms of the man she adored couldn't keep the impending danger at bay forever, but AJ desperately needed the reminder that there was still good in a chaotic, even brutal, world.

* * *

(March 1st.)

Last night, AJ and Drew had arrived at the mutual conclusion that it wasn't safe for _either_ of them to remain at her apartment with those maniacs on the loose, and so she was to become Drew's roommate for the time being. They would decide on more permanent living arrangements once those violent bigots behind the arson were arrested.

Only Drew's insistence that he, a foreigner, was at greater risk in a minimum security complex like this one convinced AJ to leave. Still, she couldn't help but feel that she was giving those monsters exactly the reaction they wanted by going into hiding.

Drew had overslept and was late to work, but he nonetheless offered to drop AJ and the dogs off at his place on his way to the recording studio where he was employed. AJ, however, had a lot of packing to do, and, since Drew was running behind and it was daytime, he gave her his house key, the address—and a parting kiss that made AJ want to drag him back to bed...

She showered instead and dressed in black jeans, sneakers, and a red tank top, then retrieved a garbage bag from the box under the kitchen sink and stuffed it full of clothes.

AJ was returning to her apartment after loading the bag into her trunk when she spotted Jake standing in his doorway. She smiled timidly and waved at him in greeting, and he surprised her by being friendly in return.

"Hey, AJ. Got a minute? There's something I need to talk to you about..."

AJ bit her lip, unable to shake the discomfort she felt around Jake. "Well, um, I...I'm kind of busy..." It wasn't his imposing height and build that intimidated her, but rather the aloof—even cold—attitude he'd displayed the first time they met. AJ had gotten the impression that Jake disliked her, and, during two brief, subsequent encounters, he'd all but confirmed her suspicions by merely nodding at her and going on his way.

"It won't take long, I swear," the blond man assured her, pushing his door open wider as an invitation.

"All right." AJ released a barely audible sigh and stepped into Jake's apartment, ignoring the little voice in her head that shrieked at her to turn around _right now, run _back home, and lock the door. She dismissed the urgent thought as mere paranoia resulting from yesterday's fire.

"Have a seat. Do you want something to drink?"

"No thanks." AJ added a polite smile to her refusal. She didn't want him to get the impression that she feared being drugged or poisoned. Reluctantly, she perched on the edge of a worn sofa that most likely had been donated to Jake by a relative.

"I know I wasn't very nice to you when we first met," Jake admitted as he settled into a leather armchair popped open a frosty Coke that was awaiting him on the coffee table. "I was having a bad day and I just wanted to be left alone, so...I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted." _Jake's not a bad guy, _AJ reasoned, comforted by the toothpaste commercial-worthy grin he flashed at her. _He's probably just shy..._It certainly wouldn't be the first time she had overwhelmed someone with her bubbly, extroverted personality!

An awkward silence fell between them. Jake looked like he wanted to say something else but was struggling with how to phrase it, so AJ glanced around the room while she waited. There wasn't much to look at, other than a television set and a few framed photographs on the table—and those were turned towards Jake. As the seconds ticked by and became minutes, AJ's nerves returned. "I really should go now..." A brilliant excuse came to her and she added, "I have to meet someone for breakfast-"

"He's no good," Jake blurted, his words tumbling out like a secret he just couldn't keep to himself any longer.

AJ raised her brows in confusion. "Who?"

"Your boyfriend. The...Scottish guy." Jake's reference to Drew's nationality was filled with a shocking amount of contempt—like "Scottish" was the filthiest curse word in existence. "You need to dump him, AJ."

"Excuse me?" AJ jumped to her feet, hands on her hips and a glare on her face. Her head was spinning with questions. How did Jake even know about Drew, anyway? Had he been _spying_ on her? Jake also rose and closed the distance so that only about two feet remained between them. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's _wrong_ for Americans and foreigners to be together! It's..._immoral_. He's only using you for a green card, sweetheart. Immigrants are parasites—every single one of 'em. Why are you wasting your time with that loser when you could be dating a real American instead?"

AJ had been so floored by her neighbor's vile outburst that she was unable to say or do anything at first, but, when Jake paused to take a breath, she slapped him across the face as hard as she could.

"Hey!" Jake yelped. To AJ's amazement, he looked bewildered as he began to massage his reddened left cheek. "What was that for?"

"For being an asshole," she hissed, fists clenched. "You know, you have some nerve, spying on me and insulting my boyfriend—who, by the way, is more of a 'real American' than you—Oh, my God." AJ had finally connected the dots, and she stumbled backwards in horror. Her next words came out in a whisper: "It was you..._You_ threatened Alberto and burned down his club!" She instantly felt a wave of regret wash over her and covered her mouth, stunned by how much she had just revealed. Of all the times for her mouth to work faster than her brain...

AJ never would have anticipated that someone of Jake's size could move so fast, but his shocked expression turned to one of rage in a matter of seconds, and he had a death grip on her shirt collar before she could even react. A tiny shriek made its way past her lips.

"How do you know about that?" he demanded. There was a wild, glazed over look in his eyes, as if Jake had been possessed by an evil spirit.

"Jake! You're hurting me!" AJ protested as his grasp tightened, drawing the collar around her throat and threatening to cut off her precious oxygen at any moment. She tugged at his arms in vain.

"Answer the question!" He snarled the command at her like a rabid animal, but AJ just kept her mouth shut and glared at him, hoping to conceal how terrified she was. "I want the truth, AJ. _Now_."

She had to get away from Jake before he killed her—and there was no doubt in her mind that he intended to do so. She knew too much for him to just let her walk away unharmed...AJ's reflexes took over and she struck him in the shin with her right foot. Her sneaker didn't make much of an impact, but she managed to catch Jake by surprise, and he loosened his grip on her shirt just enough for the brunette to wriggle free.

AJ turned and took a few rushed steps in the direction of the front door, but Jake grabbed her arm and spun her around before she could get any further. She caught a glimpse of his panic-stricken expression and screamed.

Her shrill cry for help was promptly silenced by the massive fist that collided with her face.


	6. Meet the Enemy

Thanks again to Malek, General Herbison, and rko Stazy Orton for reviewing the last chapter!

* * *

(March 1st.)

It appeared that AJ had never made it to Drew's home.

There wasn't a scrap of evidence that she'd been there: No car parked on the road or in the driveway, no dogs, no personal effects, no note indicating she'd had to go somewhere and would be back later...He rang both her home and mobile numbers and was directed straight to voice mail each time.

Drew forgot all about his plans to take AJ to lunch and drove to her complex, almost breaking the speed limit in the process. He inhaled and exhaled several times and tried to convince himself that AJ was either still packing or had decided to run a few errands before coming over.

Another possibility was that she had changed her mind and decided to stay home. She'd only wanted a one night stand to begin with, and maybe she'd lost interest in him now that they had finally slept together...Or had Drew pushed her away by encouraging her to move in with him—even temporarily—so early on in their relationship? True, it was a last resort because AJ had no family and few other friends in the area, none of whom she wanted to "burden," but now he feared that she'd interpreted his desire to _protect_ her as an attempt to _control_ her...

He did everything in his power to avoid reflecting on AJ's vulnerability to the evil lurking around her. She was _alive_, damn it, and she was _safe_! She just _had_ to be.

When he pulled into the parking lot, he was relieved to find the brunette's car waiting in her usual parking space.

"Thank you," Drew murmured in response to his answered prayers. He could hear the dogs barking like mad and scratching at the front door as he approached, and the cacophony only increased after he rang the doorbell. Any second now, AJ's high-pitched voice would cajole the dogs into silence like always...When that didn't happen, Drew pressed the bell a second time. Again, he was greeted by barking alone.

"AJ?" Drew called out. This time, he rapped sharply against the wood with his knuckles. That didn't achieve results, either. Frowning, he turned the doorknob and was surprised, but not yet alarmed, to discover that AJ had left her flat unlocked. She was probably running back and forth, dumping things in her car and returning for more, and didn't want to bother using the key every time.

"AJ?" He raised his voice as he stepped inside, maneuvering his long legs in such a way as to prevent the dogs from escaping. "Where are you, love?"

No response. There was no loud music, either, or blaring television that might have drowned out the sounds he'd made. The dogs remained restless but quieted down upon seeing a familiar face, and the resulting silence was as eerie as a bloodcurdling scream.

Drew glanced around the living room, pulse racing. AJ tended to be messy without straying into hoarding territory, and the usual clutter was lying about her flat—clothing, comic books, an assortment of dog toys. He went into the kitchen, and the first thing he noticed was a large, empty stainless steel bowl on the linoleum. The dogs milled around it and wagged their tails hopefully when they realized someone had been alerted to their dilemma.

His heart continued to thump uneasily as he headed to the sink for a refill. AJ spoiled her animals rotten. There was no way in hell she'd ever leave them alone without a full water bowl.

So, where _was_ she? The most likely scenario was also the most sinister one, and Drew forced himself to think about the alternatives in order to avoid dwelling on a number of stomach-churning visions involving AJ's fate.

It did not escape his attention that the cabinet under the kitchen sink was open, and a plastic rubbish bag spilled halfway out of the cardboard box. AJ had probably just used one or two to pack her things in, but, due to recent events and Drew's background, his thoughts automatically strayed to bodies stuffed in plastic bags...

"_No_!" Drew hadn't realized he'd voiced his thoughts until he glanced down and saw the dogs back away, two sets of inquisitive brown eyes trained on his face. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of all the morbid statistics he'd acquired during his stint as a criminologist. Water overflowed the bowl and ran down the drain, and he tipped out some of the excess and shut off the tap before returning the dish to its rightful place.

He then traipsed through the rest of the apartment, seeking any clues as to AJ's whereabouts. There were no bloodstains or signs of a struggle or robbery, thank God, nor could he find a note explaining her absence. Clothes were strewn across the bed, so she'd obviously started packing, but, for one reason or another, hadn't finished the task. Her mobile phone rested on the dresser, which in itself was odd: AJ _always_ carried her phone with her.

Drew didn't let a twinge of guilt stop him from perusing his girlfriend's phone for evidence regarding her whereabouts. Under any other circumstances, he wouldn't dare invade another person's privacy like this, but there were violent xenophobes on the loose, and AJ's alliances with foreigners made her a potential target. For her sake, it was important to know if she'd been contacted by anyone suspicious recently or if a mate had impulsively talked her into meeting today.

Her lists of local contacts was small and limited to her employer, co-workers, someone named Kaitlyn, and Drew himself. AJ might be a social butterfly, but, between putting in long hours at Club Destiny, hanging out with Drew, and working on her creative goals, she didn't have a lot of time and energy to spare. Nonetheless, Drew contacted everyone he could and left messages for those he couldn't reach, including Alberto.

He saved the mysterious Kaitlyn for last. AJ had once told him that she preferred the company of men because she had rotten luck befriending other women, so he was surprised to find a female name in her phone alongside a number with a Tampa area code.

"Damn it, AJ, I told you to stop calling me!" Kaitlyn snapped four rings later. "I'm _so _done with trying to be your friend, you two-faced bitch!"

Drew stared at the phone, dumbfounded. It wasn't the kind of reaction he'd expected from someone AJ had kept on a list containing her family and friends.

"My name is Drew," he told her once he'd recovered from the shock of Kaitlyn's tirade. "I'm AJ's boyfriend. She...disappeared, and I'm trying to find her-"

"Oh, my God...This...This is some kind of prank, isn't it? AJ put you up to this, didn't she?"

"No." Drew did his best to remain calm. Obviously, there was bad blood between the two women, but he wished Kaitlyn could put her animosity aside for a moment and just concentrate on answering his questions. "I don't know who you are, but your name and number were in AJ's contacts list." He paused. "Have you talked to her today?"

"Hell no." Kaitlyn huffed out a sigh. "She keeps calling _me_, though—trying to make amends. As if I'd ever forgive her_._.. Hey, you _do_ know that AJ's mentally unstable, right? She probably just ran away, but don't worry: She'll come back eventually."

The lack of sympathy in her tone was unnerving. Drew wanted to grab this girl by the shoulders and shake her until she understood that this was literally a matter of life and death.

"Listen to me, Kaitlyn: AJ could be in danger. If she contacts you, I need to know about it." He followed that statement with his mobile number. "Got it?"

Kaitlyn waited a beat while she mulled over his words, then squeaked out a "Yeah" in reply. "AJ used to be my best friend," she added softly, "and, even though I hate her guts now, I still don't want anything bad to happen to her." She paused. "I hope you find her, Drew." Kaitlyn disconnected without waiting for a response from him.

Drew made another circuit of AJ's flat, his own phone in his jeans pocket, while he waited for someone to return his call. In his heart, he knew what happened, but his analytical side insisted on evaluating every angle and possibility, and he continued to search for clues that weren't there. Only the unexpected jangle of his ring tone kept him from going completely mad with worry.

"Drew, amigo, what happened? You said AJ is missing?" Alberto's tone was the exact opposite of Kaitlyn's: Anxious and deeply concerned.

"Yeah. I have no idea where she is and I can't reach her." His voice caught in his throat and it took some effort to force the rest of his words out. "You...You haven't spoken to her since yesterday, have you?"

"No. Sorry."

The impact Alberto's answer made on Drew felt like a punch to the stomach. He sank onto a kitchen chair, suddenly feeling lightheaded from a combination of raw grief and blinding rage.

"Ah, God...They got to her," Drew groaned, somehow able to finally say out loud what he'd been too terrified to admit to himself earlier. "The same bastards who set fire to your club...They took AJ."

* * *

"We've got a problem."

"Well, spit it out, boy." Zeb frowned at his protege's anxious tone and squeezed the phone a little tighter without realizing it. The older man wondered what could have rattled Jack so badly. Jack might be hot tempered and prone to fits of depression, but Zeb had never known him to be an anxious sort.

"I, uh...My neighbor is in my apartment, and she's, uh...She's not dead, but she's out cold. I don't know what to do with her, Zeb."

"Calm down and start from the beginning, Jack." Zeb sighed and twirled one end of his mustache while he reflected on Jack's statement. There were a lot of gaping holes in his story, and he couldn't help his friend until they'd been filled in.

He heard Jack inhale over the line. "Okay...Well, AJ—that's my neighbor—is seeing a guy from Scotland, and I invited her over to talk about it. I told her to dump him because it's wrong for Americans to be with immigrants, and AJ got really upset. I tried to stop her from leaving, but she started to scream, so I...I _hit _her to shut her up." Shame had crept into Jack's voice when he brought up hitting AJ. "I know I shouldn't have done it, Zeb, but she mentioned Del Rio, and I panicked-"

"Wait a minute. How does she know Mr. Del Rio?" Zeb rolled the "r" in "Rio". In this particular situation, he condoned using violence against a woman. After all, AJ had committed treason by sympathizing with foreigners, and she surely would have turned Jack in to the police if he hadn't knocked her out first. Zeb refused to allow some hysterical woman to ruin months of careful planning.

"I'm not sure, but she knows about the fire—and the letter, too. I couldn't take any chances."

"Good thinking. Bring 'er on over. We'll decide what to do with her later."

Their conversation ended there, and a sense of elation came over Zeb as he reflected on Jack's words. Never in a million years did he imagine they would actually capture a traitor! Until now, their crusade had been focused on first lecturing their fellow Americans and then—when that failed to get the desired results—attempting to terrorize immigrants into fleeing.

Now, however, a unique opportunity had just fallen right into their laps.

Zeb pondered the seemingly endless possibilities. They could use AJ as bait to lure Del Rio and her Scottish boyfriend to their deaths, turn her into a true patriot, persuade her to seduce other men into joining their cause, or just kill her and dispose of the body. Perhaps he could somehow combine all of those ideas into one ingenious plan...

Approximately twenty minutes later, Jack's dirty blue pickup rolled onto Zeb's acreage. The driver hopped out and raised the cover on his truck bed, then retrieved a small body wrapped head-to-toe in a sheet. The sheet fell away from the young woman's face as he lifted her, revealing somewhat dark skin and long hair tinted such a deep brown shade that it almost appeared black. A purplish bruise was already forming where Jack's punch had landed.

Zeb was incapable of concealing his disgust as he opened the back door. He wore his feelings on his sleeve when it came to foreigners and liberals, but he actually extended that hatred to anyone and everyone who wasn't like him: Gays, lesbians, feminists, non-Christians, other races...

"She looks like a damn Mexican," he sneered. _Mexican_...He recalled what Jack had said about AJ knowing Del Rio, and it occurred to him that she might be of some relation to that sneaky—and probably illegal-immigrant.

Jack paused in the doorway to examine the woman as if seeing her for the first time. It would have amused Zeb greatly had the younger man dropped AJ in horror, but he managed to maintain a firm grip on her.

"Do you think she's related to_ him_?" he asked, wide-eyed, and it pleased Zeb that his protege had made the same connection.

"Maybe so." One way or another, he would get the answer to that question—and others—even if it meant applying some of the crude techniques he'd learned in Vietnam. He nodded towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms. "Put her in the spare bedroom." Zeb locked the back door and followed Jack down the hall, two lengths of rope dangling from his left fist.

"Bed or chair?" Jack asked, glancing between an old bed and a rocking chair in the corner by the window.

Zeb shrugged. "Either one." He waited for Jack to deposit AJ on the bed—the location was presumably selected because it was closer—before thrusting the ropes into his hands. Then he watched, heart swelling with pride, as the younger man secured the brunette's arms behind her back. Jack was the perfect soldier: He obeyed every command Zeb issued without thinking or questioning. The cause needed more people like him.

The remaining rope was used on AJ's ankles. Zeb checked the knots to ensure their hostage would neither escape nor lose circulation and nodded in approval.

"Good work, son." He was tempted to try to rouse the girl early by, say, throwing water on her face or perhaps slapping her around a bit, but he resisted temptation, knowing that he would be rewarded for his patience later.

Besides, they needed the extra time to decide on Miss AJ's fate.

* * *

The first thing AJ noticed upon awakening was the pain.

The entire left side of her face throbbed as if being struck by a hammer every few seconds. In addition, the coppery taste of blood lingered in her mouth. Horrified, AJ ran her tongue over her teeth as lightly as possible, checking to see if any of her teeth had been smashed to bits. Miraculously, everything seemed to be intact—her jaw and cheekbone included.

Even worse, some experimental wriggling revealed that AJ's hands were tied behind her back and her ankles were also bound together. She began to cry silently, both from the pain and from reality setting in. How did she get into this situation—and why couldn't she remember?

AJ opened her eyes a little wider, and her gaze fell upon a banner—or maybe it was a flag—pinned to the opposite wall of the room. The highlighter yellow shade of the fabric provided glaring contrast to the dingy, off-white walls and dimly lit room. There was a hissing snake in the center, and words were printed underneath that a dizzy AJ couldn't quite make out.

She realized that she was lying on her back on a rather stiff bed, and two blurry men approached the foot of that bed. One was of a stocky build, wore a vest over a sweatshirt, and looked like he hadn't shaved in years; the other was tall, blond, and vaguely familiar.

"Ah. It looks like our...'guest' is finally awake," the shorter man announced. He was soft spoken, and his voice carried a noticeable southern inflection.

"About damn time," muttered the blond.

The two figures gradually came into focus, and AJ gasped, having tentatively identified one of the men as her neighbor.

"_Jake_?" she asked groggily. It was him, all right. The shock of her discovery was almost enough to make her forget the excruciating pain that was her constant companion. Jake watched her impassively, arms folded across his chest, like he didn't care whether she lived or died. AJ, meanwhile, was assaulted by flashes of buried memories.

She finally arrived at the conclusion that she had been abducted by the monster—or monsters—who torched her boss's club.

The other man, who appeared to be _at least _twice Jack's age, chuckled for some reason and twirled both ends of his handlebar mustache. AJ wished she could punch that stupid mustache—not to mention that overgrown beard—right off of his face.

"I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced. My name is Zeb Colter, and the man you know as 'Jake' is actually a good friend of mine by the name of Jack Hagar." Jack/Jake gave him a startled glance but said nothing. "Jack's told me all about _you_, Miss AJ."

AJ didn't say a peep. For one thing, she was in enough pain already without moving her mouth. She was also afraid of offending either man and getting punched again. Her jaw surely wouldn't survive a second blow without fracturing. The brunette looked past them at the flag on the wall and was able to read the words this time: _DON'T TREAD ON ME. _It was some kind of political slogan, she recalled.

Her skin began to crawl as Zeb came even closer and narrowed his beady eyes at her. He might look like a harmless grandfather type, but something about him gave AJ the creeps—and it wasn't just his superficial resemblance to her emotionally abusive ex, Daniel, who also had an abundance of facial hair.

"Do you know why you're here?" he inquired.

_Because I couldn't keep my mouth shut, _she thought miserably. If she had calmly told Jake—_Jack_-she'd take his advice into consideration, he would have let her leave, and then she could have gone home and called the police right away. But, no, she had to freak out and start babbling about her boss and his club...Fresh tears streamed down her face as she realized just how much danger she had unintentionally put both Alberto and Drew in. She _hated_ crying in front of these lunatics, but, once the tears started flowing, she couldn't seem to turn them off.

Unsurprisingly, neither of her abductors was moved by her distress.

"You're here because you've been found guilty of treason, little lady," the old man continued. "Associating with foreigners, _sleeping_ with them..." He shook his head slowly and clucked in disapproval. "Quite frankly, it's disgusting. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Go...to...hell," AJ hissed at him. Jack took several steps forward, fists clenched and blue eyes blazing with fury, but Zeb managed to restrain him with a simple touch on the arm. AJ's muscles tensed involuntarily at Jack's movement, and she relaxed a little when he backed off.

"Easy," he murmured before turning his attention back to AJ. "Now, Jack and I know it wasn't your intention to betray your country—after all, you're young and naïve, a victim of liberal brainwashing—but I'm afraid we can't let you go. You know too much, and that makes you a threat."

Zeb's words rattled around AJ's still-foggy brain, causing her additional trauma: _Guilty of treason...We can't let you go...You know too much...A threat..._

Her heart sank, and she would have surrendered completely to her despair had she not remembered the foreigners who held a special place in her heart. She _had_ to stay strong and find a way to escape in order to save them—and herself, too.


	7. Clinging to Hope

I want to thank General Herbison for reviewing the last chapter and also xmisscaitlin for flooding my inbox with reviews. :D

* * *

"Please, _please_ let me go...I won't tell _anyone_ what happened,_ I swear_! Not a word! If anyone asks what happened to me, I...I'll tell them I had a nervous breakdown and ran away." Although AJ didn't think begging and pleading would win her any sympathy from her captors, she couldn't help it. It was just one of those things that people did automatically in situations like this.

The men exchanged looks that conveyed both skepticism and amusement. Not surprisingly, Zeb was the first to speak again. Jack, AJ noticed, rarely talked in the other man's presence. He was obviously the muscle of the pair.

"How stupid do you think we are?" he asked disdainfully. "That's the oldest trick in the book."

She wisely refrained from answering the old man's rhetorical question. Instead, she began to scream her lungs out: "_Help me! Somebody help me! Help!_" Somehow, over the increasing volume of her own wails, AJ heard Zeb order Jack to "shut her up"-and her neighbor responded by charging across the room like an enraged bull and backhanding AJ across her injured cheek. Her head rocked to one side and she yelped. Jack, meanwhile, took up a new position closer to Zeb, and acted as if nothing had happened.

"Ordinarily, I don't condone violence against women, but you asked for it," Zeb told his hostage. "For your sake, I hope you're not foolish enough to try that again. Besides, we're way out in the country. No one can hear you scream, so you're just wasting your breath."

AJ whimpered but said nothing. Zeb and Jack held her fate in their hands, and it had become crystal clear that being on her best behavior would greatly improve her odds of surviving. Naturally, Zeb took her submissive behavior as a sign to resume talking.

"Now, you might find this hard to believe, but Jack and me, we're not the bad guys here."

_Could've fooled me, _AJ thought bitterly. If threatening people, committing arson, assaulting and kidnapping a woman, and spewing hateful propaganda didn't qualify as evil, then what did?

"We're just trying to restore America to her former glory," Zeb elaborated in that same low, soothing tone, but the smile he used to emphasize his point was more sinister than reassuring. "You see, somewhere along the way, the American dream has become a nightmare, and honest, hard-working citizens such as Jack and myself have been cheated out of the opportunities that we deserve. Therefore, we intend to take our country back from those who seek to corrupt it and run them out of here like the mangy dogs they are."

If she hadn't known what her captors were capable of, AJ might have dissolved into giggles at Zeb's speech. These two were absolutely_ delusional—_and the fact that they were willing to act on their delusional beliefs was what made them so dangerous.

"We don't want to hurt you...After all, you're still a fellow American." He paused, then amended his statement. "You _are _an American, aren't you? Where are you from, girl?"

"New...New Jersey," AJ squeaked out, figuring it was safe to tell him that much.

Zeb snorted, making it clear that he was one of those people who looked down on her home state. "Like I was saying, we don't _want _to hurt you—but, as you've learned from experience, we won't hesitate to do so if you give us any trouble."

AJ shuddered. Her aching jaw was a constant reminder of that.

"I have a question for you, Miss AJ: Do you know what the punishment for treason is?"

AJ's stomach twisted into a knot and her mouth went dry. Her brain might be scrambled from both pain and terror, but she was coherent enough to realize what Zeb was alluding to.

He raised his wrist and tapped the face on his watch. "Don't keep us waiting. Answer the question or we'll _make_ you answer."

"Death," she whispered at last, shivering as if suffering from a bad fever. _I guess they're not going to torture me after all. They're just going to kill me instead. _She wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or horrified by that revelation.

The grizzled man nodded. "That's right. Death. _Execution_, technically. Lucky for you, your punishment will be decided by Jack and myself and not the government—and we'd rather keep you around. You're...useful."

"'Useful'?" AJ didn't like the sound of that. It could mean a million different things—none of them good. "I...I don't understand..."

"We're gonna make a real American patriot out of you, young lady."

"I'd rather _die_!" AJ snarled as she thrashed in vain against the ropes that bit into her flesh. She wanted desperately to live, of course, but not if living meant emerging from her ordeal as a brainwashed "patriot". "I'll never become one of you—_never_!" Her vehement glare landed on Zeb first, then Jack. Judging by their twin smirks, both found her tirade rather funny.

Zeb shrugged. "We'll just see about that." He looked and sounded so smug, so confident that she'd become one of them, that AJ wanted to claw his beady little eyes out. All she _could_ do, however, was scowl in contempt and continue to struggle against the ropes that held her prisoner.

Then something else occured to her, and AJ suddenly began to laugh—the kind of hysterical laughter that had helped cement her reputation for being crazy. Her strange behavior caused the others to become visibly bewildered.

"You're going to die," she informed them with an unnaturally sweet smile. "When my boyfriend and my friends find me, and they find out what you guys did to me, they're going to _tear you apart_-"

"Yeah, right," Jack muttered.

"I'd like to see them try," Zeb scoffed. "Jack and I have been around guns all our lives—and, between the two of us, we've built up quite a collection. If any of your disgusting foreign 'friends' come sneaking"-He wiggled the index and middle fingers on his right hand, simulating walking-"around here, we'll shoot 'em on the spot."

AJ was stunned speechless. She believed, deep in her bones, that Zeb was telling the truth—and, even if he wasn't, he and Jack had already participated in multiple violent crimes, so they were more likely to actually commit murder.

It wasn't just her life at stake anymore. Unless AJ could escape from these maniacs before her loved ones connected them to her disappearance and determined their location, a lot of innocent people were going to die.

She had to do _something_ to stop Zeb and Jack from carrying out their sinister plans...Unfortunately, she had no idea what that something was.

* * *

"I...I want to—I _need to_—file a missing person report," Drew began. "My girlfriend, she's...I think she's been abducted." He'd already performed the heart wrenching task of ringing up area hospitals and morgues to find out if anyone matching AJ's description had been admitted. As he expected, nothing came of it, and this was the next logical step.

"What makes you think that?" Officer Ted DiBiase asked, eyebrows raised. He was a man in his early thirties, with neat, dark blond hair and kind yet somber blue eyes that convinced Drew of his dedication to the job. He gestured for Drew to take a seat in the chair facing his desk, and Drew immediately complied.

He then launched into a condensed story about the threatening letter Alberto had received and the fire at his club, and finished by explaining that AJ was a waitress there and Alberto was a friend to both AJ and Drew himself.

"I believe there's a connection between those incidents and what happened to AJ," he added. "I think whoever targeted Alberto went after AJ because she works for him—or maybe they found out about our relationship somehow."

The officer slowly released the breath he'd been holding. "I hate to say it, but, after what you just told me, we definitely have to take your theory under consideration. However, we can't rule out other possibilities at this time, either...Now, what's your girlfriend's full name, sir?"

"April Jeanette Lee Mendez. Everyone calls her AJ, though."

Officer DiBiase's fingers flew across his keyboard as he took down the information. "Date and place of birth?"

"March nineteenth, nineteen-eighty-seven, in Union City, New Jersey." He secretly feared that his girlfriend might not live to see her next birthday, which was less than three weeks away.

"Current address?"

Drew answered as many of the questions as he could and in great detail whenever possible. He described AJ's appearance, habits, emotional state, their relationship, and her plans for the immediate future. He told the other man about AJ's car waiting in the parking lot, her dogs going without water, and the clothes covering her bed. Still, he was frustrated by the number of questions he either couldn't answer or couldn't shed much light on.

"I'm sorry," he groaned when he drew a blank yet again. "I'm afraid I don't know AJ very well...We've only been going out for a few weeks."

"It's all right," Officer DiBiase reassured him with a gentle smile. "You've already provided us with a lot of useful information. Shall we continue?"

Drew nodded, and they did. There was nothing more frustrating for the former criminal profiler than being forced to sit on the sidelines while other people investigated his girlfriend's disappearance. But, even if he _had_ taken another profiling job upon moving to the States, he would still be banned from working this particular case because of his relationship to the victim.

"We'll find her, Mister McIntyre," Officer DiBiase assured him after the report was finished and filed. He stood and reached across the desk to give Drew a firm handshake.

He did not, Drew noticed, promise that they would find AJ _alive_.

* * *

Catalina Hager browsed the menu while listening, and occasionally contributing, to the conversation her best friends were having, although her thoughts were elsewhere. Sure, she enjoyed spending time with Kelly Blank and Maryse Ouellet, and she was glad that her parents had agreed to take Knox for the evening so she could have a night out, but Jack's absence left a hole in her heart that nothing could fill. Even her excitement over both Knox's accomplishments and her own was dimmed by her inability to share those moments with the man she loved.

"So, is Jack still begging you to take him back?"

Maryse's thick French-Canadian accent distracted Catalina from her halfhearted perusal of the restaurant's offerings. She glanced up to find the two platinum blondes practically boring holes through her with their eyes—Maryse had hazel irises and Kelly's were blue—while they awaited her answer.

"I, um, haven't talked to him in awhile." She tucked her stick-straight brown hair behind her ears and nervously sucked iced tea through a straw. It was awkward listening to her friends brag about their boyfriends, but nowhere _near_ as awkward as discussing her estranged husband. She was just about to switch the subject to their upcoming modeling gigs when Kelly spoke up.

"Really? That's kind of weird." Both women knew all about Jack's repeated attempts to contact his wife in the past. "When was the last time you heard from him?"

"My birthday," Catalina murmured. That was in late January—just over a month ago. Jack had left a message on her voice mail since he couldn't reach her, wishing her a happy birthday and informing her yet again that he missed her. Their last conversation prior to that was on Christmas and only lasted a few tense minutes.

The other women were still gaping when the waiter stopped by a moment later to take their orders. Catalina impulsively decided on a Waldorf salad with a side of sourdough bread. She wasn't that hungry anymore.

"You miss him, don't you?" Maryse inquired after the waiter left, her voice dripping with sympathy.

Catalina nodded. "Of course I do," she admitted with a sigh, "but our son's welfare comes first—and, if I can't trust Jack to keep him safe, then he's not welcome in either of our lives." Part of her pitied the man for his demons and his inability to cope with them, but another part of her was mad as hell. Jack hadn't thought about the potential consequences when he got behind the wheel that fateful night. If there had been an accident, people could have ended up seriously injured or even _died...He_ could have died.

"People _can _change, you know." Maryse arched her carefully plucked brows to drive her point home, and Kelly nodded in agreement.

The brunette sighed. "I know, but, if Jack _has _changed for the better, why hasn't he told me about it?"

"Maybe he's working overtime at a new job," Kelly suggested.

"Or maybe he finally entered rehab," Maryse added helpfully.

Those thoughts had crossed Catalina's mind, too, and she brightened at the idea that Jack might actually be taking steps to improve his life. She often reflected on the handsome, charming, athletic Oklahoma native that she'd fallen in love with, and she wondered if that version of Jack would ever return.

"I hope so."

"Well, there's only one way to find out: _Call him_." There was a decisive note in Maryse's voice that almost made Catalina groan. She knew that Maryse—and Kelly, too—would continually pester her about calling until she finally took action.

"Why should I?" Catalina cringed at how defensive she sounded, but she didn't want Jack to get the impression that she was lonely and desperate-even if she was. "_He's_ the one who screwed up."

Kelly smiled gently at her. "True, but knowing that you still care about—even love—him might motivate Jack to, well, get better faster."

"I guess..." Catalina frowned as she weighed her friend's words. What if swallowing her pride and making a single phone call could save her marriage? Could showing a little kindness and concern actually help Jack dig himself out of the hole he'd created?

She didn't know, but she was willing to give it a try.


	8. Mysteries

Thank you xmisscaitlin and General Herbison for reviewing the last chapter!

* * *

(March 2nd.)

So far, AJ was fortunate enough not to be beaten anymore or raped, but her kidnappers were _definitely_ torturing her.

They ate and drank in front of her and didn't offer her a single thing, not even when her stomach growled. AJ was too stubborn and too proud to beg them, and, besides, she was afraid they might try to drug her. Their behavior was _so _confusing: If she was too 'useful' to kill, then why did they deprive her of basic necessities?

Bathroom breaks required permission. It was a humiliating experience that involved Jack untying AJ's wrists—but not her ankles—escorting her to the door, and waiting outside until she was finished. Afterward, he would bind her wrists again and drag her back to the bedroom.

The first time this happened, AJ had promptly searched the cabinet above the sink, running both faucets to mask any suspicious noises. She was crushed to discover nothing but empty shelves. She'd been hoping for a razor she could use as as a weapon or some pills to overdose on. There wasn't even a lock on the bathroom door for privacy—although that wouldn't have stopped Jack from kicking in that door to get to her.

Each trip did, however, provide an opportunity for AJ to work briefly yet feverishly at the knotted rope that pinned her legs together.

The two men took shifts overnight so they could get some sleep, which was yet another luxury they deprived AJ of. Every now and then, she managed to doze off for a few minutes while Zeb was passionately engaged in a speech or Jack's attention was elsewhere. Unfortunately, someone would eventually notice that she was no longer paying attention and either shake her or splash water in her face until her eyelids fluttered open. Then they continued to fill her brain with their stupid, bigoted propaganda—just like Zeb was doing right now.

AJ wanted very badly to slit both their throats.

"Someday, little lady, you'll thank your lucky stars we took you away from that Scottish boyfriend of yours and those other foreigners you run around with. You have no idea what kind of evil they're capable of or the many ways they could ruin your life."

"Drew is an honorable man," AJ snapped, and Zeb's pleased expression made her want to smack herself on the forehead. _Oh, shit._ She realized too late that he hadn't known her boyfriend's name until she had foolishly blurted it out. If only they had gagged her in addition to tying her up..."That's something you know _nothing_ about."

"Hey! Show him some respect!" Jack barked. He'd been leaning against the open doorway, arms crossed, and now he straightened his posture.

_Careful,_ the voice of reason warned AJ. _You're going to get yourself killed!_

Zeb leaned forward in the rocking chair with interest. "Drew, huh? This Drew fellow got a last name?" He shrugged and waved a hand in dismissal when AJ failed to respond. "Never mind. You'll tell me eventually."

AJ's fists clenched behind her back._ Like hell I will, asshole. _She shifted onto her left side in order to ease some of the stiffness in her arms.

He didn't hesitate to resume his lecture: "I assume you've heard stories about American girls marrying foreigners, only to find out later their husbands were just using them for a green card. And God forbid a woman have children with scum like that...The husband _always_ runs off with the kids and takes 'em back to his home country, never to be seen again." Zeb slowly shook his head. "It's best to stick to your own kind-"

"Drew isn't like that," AJ insisted. "He's a gentleman. He would _never_ do anything to hurt me." Talking—even _thinking_—about Drew filled AJ with a sorrow so deep she could have drowned in her emotions. Her boyfriend was a sensitive soul, and she feared that he was torturing himself to the point of illness with guilt and worry over her.

Had it really only been a day or two since they'd kissed and made love? It seemed like those sweet memories had taken place _years_ ago... Suddenly, all the personal drama she'd undergone over the past year—the parade of exes, her grudge against Kaitlyn, therapy with Doctor Shelby, Dolph and Eve's visit to Club Destiny, even her near-fatal suicide attempt—paled in comparison to being abducted by these deranged freaks.

A lone tear trickled down her cheek.

The miserable brunette reluctantly tuned back into her surroundings. The creepy old man was now trying to raise suspicions about Drew's past. He asked AJ if she had done a background check on him, and—most ridiculous of all—argued that Drew might be "a criminal on the run, wanted by Scotland Yard for multiple felonies."

_And people think _I'm_ insane! _She clamped down on her lip with her front teeth to keep from revealing how much his ironic statement had amused her.

"Anyway, it's not just women who suffer at the hands of immigrants. Men do, too. Take Jack, for example. Why, he lost his job to one of those sneaky bastards—and a whole lot more. But that's _his_ story to tell..."

AJ was startled by the anguish that momentarily shadowed the blond's face in reaction to Zeb's comments. She was beginning to think his emotions were limited to outrage and apathy, and learning otherwise sparked the beginning of an idea in her...

"As for me...Well, I lost my brother," Zeb confided. "We both went to 'Nam, but I was the only one who came back. The Vietnamese captured him and brainwashed him into betraying his values. As far as I know, he's still over there doing...'charity work'." Zeb actually used air quotes around the last two words.

His stories stirred up a little reluctant sympathy in AJ. She suspected some parts of Zeb's tales were exaggerated—if not outright lies designed to elicit understanding from his hostage—but the intensity of his voice and countenance hinted at a few nuggets of truth within.

"But my story doesn't end there. Far from it." Zeb's eyes narrowed as he mentally traveled backward through time. "You see, when I returned to the States, I was treated like dirt by my so-called 'fellow Americans'! They spat on me, insulted me, threatened me...Even worse, I struggled to find work 'cause the government was giving all the good jobs to minorities! " Zeb huffed and smashed his fists into his vest pockets. "To this day, I continue be discriminated against because I choose to exercise my freedom of speech." Jack came over and rested a hand on his shoulder, looking at his friend with empathy.

AJ was genuinely sorry for their suffering, but her compassion didn't extend to the monsters Zeb and Jack had become. Instead of writing off the incidents as isolated events and moving on, they both chose to channel their grief and pain through acts of terror against anyone and everyone who reminded them of the past.

But what if...AJ frowned and stole a glance at the blond, who hadn't moved an inch since he had last entered the room. What if Jack _didn't_ have a choice? She had often witnessed him staring at Zeb with admiration shining in his eyes, like the older man was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Had Jack been brainwashed into believing immigrants were evil, or had those feelings been there all along and Zeb merely "lit the fuse" somehow?

If Jack could be manipulated once, he could probably be manipulated again-and AJ possessed an almost magical ability to turn men to putty in her hands...

"_We're gonna make a real American patriot out of you, young lady."_

The buried memory resurfaced in warning, and AJ, despite being exhausted from a brutal combination of dehydration, starvation, and sleep deprivation, was now wide awake. She honestly couldn't say whether Jack was just a mindless puppet or a willing participant in Zeb's malevolent schemes, but she had come to the sickening realization that the latter was _already_ attempting to brainwash _her_—and he wouldn't quit until he succeeded.

"Hey!" Zeb cuffed her roughly on the shoulder. "You still listening to me, girl?"

"Yeah," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

Zeb scowled. "The correct answer is 'No, sir,' followed by an apology, but I'll overlook your rudeness—_this_ time." Jack nodded and gave her the evil eye.

_Oh, thank you, kind sir! _AJ's fear of retaliation convinced her to keep her sarcasm to herself _and _pay closer attention, but the other half of her brain was focused on working out the details of her escape plan.

The tiniest of smiles curved her lips. As bizarre as it sounded to her ears, she couldn't _wait _to be alone with Jack again.

* * *

"Summer...Summer, I know you're home. Let me in, sweetheart." The sultry, cajoling drawl of Summer Rae's dance partner-turned-boyfriend, Johnny Curtis, followed yet another ring of her doorbell.

"Go away," the blonde whispered from her spot on the hallway floor. She pressed her back more firmly against the wall and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her apartment was dim because she'd closed all the blinds against the bright afternoon sunlight, and Summer hoped and prayed that Johnny would assume she was taking a nap and leave.

"Summer, baby, I'm worried about you. You won't return my calls, you don't show up for your classes...What's going on?"

The young woman glanced at the front door, her blue eyes brimming with tears of shame. She didn't want Johnny to see her like this—and she wasn't just referring to her lack of makeup, sloppy ponytail, and old, faded pajamas. Johnny would be shocked to the core if he got a glimpse of the paranoid, traumatized mess she had become. Summer would rather avoid her boyfriend than be interrogated by, and—worse yet—subjected to any kind of physical consolation from him.

After being attacked, Summer couldn't imagine wanting to be touched by a man ever again—including her own boyfriend. It was the reason she had been skipping their ballroom dance lessons. Even those were too intimate for her.

"Fine." Poor Johnny sounded exasperated enough to rip his hair out. "I'll leave—for now—but you can't avoid me forever." Summer often overheard footsteps echoing from the stairs as her neighbors came and went, but Johnny was too graceful and light on his feet to make such an undignified exit.

Summer knew that he was right, but she didn't want to dwell on the future. She had to focus on getting through one second or a time or else she'd end up suffering yet another panic attack. The last one had resulted in her curled up on her bed in a fetal position, gasping for air in between hysterical sobs.

The silence dragged on, and, eventually, her limbs started to grow numb from remaining in the same position too long. Only then did she rise to her feet—but not before her fingers curled around the wooden handle of the butcher knife and the cell phone resting on the carpet nearby. They were her constant companions. She tiptoed over to the window, her entire body quivering, and breathed a sigh of relief when she couldn't find Johnny's car anywhere in the parking lot below.

"I'm sorry, Johnny," she muttered. A yawn escaped her lips, accompanied by a jolt of terror. She hadn't slept much in the days since the assault, and, when she did, she had nightmares that stayed with her for hours afterward. The blue-eyed blond man _always_ came back whenever her eyelids closed. She kept dreaming of being raped, and, in some of the dreams, he also murdered her using various methods: Strangling, shooting, stabbing...

Being cooped up in her apartment only increased her paranoia, but, try as she might, Summer couldn't quite summon the never to leave. The sick son of a bitch had appeared right after she'd exited her car and reached for her bags, which could only mean that he either lived in the complex or was stalking her. Going outside meant risking another encounter with him.

She had taken her vacation time early in order to cope with the aftermath, but it was painfully clear now that she was only getting worse. She loathed herself for her inability to "get it together" almost as much as she despised the man who'd stolen her sanity and sense of safety.

Summer perched on the sage green couch—knife to her right, phone on her left—and turned on the television for background noise, careful to keep the volume low so she'd be able to discern an intruder breaking in. It was ridiculous to worry about that in broad daylight, but the fear never really went away. She was convinced that _he_ would change his mind about letting her go free and hunt her down to ensure she never breathed a word to anyone about what he did or, at least, _tried_ to do. Maybe he'd even finish what he had started the other night, _then _kill her...

Seeing a familiar face on the news nearly stopped Summer's heart. She cranked up the volume a few notches, spellbound.

_I know her, _she realized, and her body went rigid with horror. The brunette lived on the first floor of Summer's apartment complex, and the two women had said hello several times in passing.

And now she was missing.

What if...What if the same psycho who attacked her a few nights ago had done something to this girl?

_I should call the police and tell them what he did to me_. But she had second thoughts when she remembered the pressure of the blond man's arm against her throat—which involuntarily constricted in response to the memory. She could hear his hostile voice in her ears, bringing him close again:: _"I know where you live, bitch. Don't tell _anyone_ what happened tonight or I'll kill you."_

It was a dreadful choice to make. If she talked, her attacker would eventually connect the dots and she would wind up dead. But, if he _was_ behind AJ's disappearance, then he would probably kill her—if he hadn't already—and it would be Summer's fault because she kept her mouth shut...

Summer knew what the right thing was, and she hated herself for lacking the courage to do it. Perhaps someday she would be brave enough to come forth... _Someday_.

Today, however, she chose to do nothing and live with her guilty conscience instead.

* * *

Drew had done much grieving in his twenty-seven years on Earth. Childhood pets, grandparents, and his mother had all passed away. Numerous friendships had dissolved over the years, and his first and only marriage had ended in a mutual divorce. By now, he could recite the five stages of grief from memory.

AJ's disappearance, however, was different from the other losses he'd experienced. In those situations, there had been a funeral, divorce papers, or at least an argument to mark the end. Because AJ's fate was uncertain, Drew wouldn't have closure until she came home—one way or another—_and_ the bigoted bastards responsible were serving time for every heinous crime they'd ever committed against her...

His heart stubbornly refused to believe the grim pictures painted by the profiler side of his brain. AJ _wasn't_ dead. She just _couldn't be_. A woman as clever and willful as her would somehow manage to emerge from the depths of hell alive.

Drew sat at his kitchen table, digital camera in hand. He was sorting through some recent pictures he'd taken of AJ, trying to decide on one or two to add to the missing person fliers he was making. Those mischievous brown eyes, that bright smile...He still couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that AJ could be in the same room with him one morning and then vanish into thin air by that afternoon.

_Stage one: Denial._

It took everything he had to keep from falling apart at the seams. Again, he reminded himself that AJ needed him to be strong and to use his gifts to help find her. He might not be assigned to her case, but he could still-

His mobile phone's ring tone interrupted his thoughts, and Drew stopped fidgeting with his camera and nearly slipped in his haste to answer the call before it was sent to voice mail. The vaguely familiar number contained a local area code, and he was aggravated by his inability to associate a name with it.

"Hello?" He was breathless with anticipation—and nerves—as opposed to exertion.

"Drew?" The caller was female and sounded as if she'd been crying recently.

"Kaitlyn?"


	9. Unlikely Allies

Thank you General Herbison for reviewing the last chapter. I apologize for the wait and length (or lack thereof), but I had a terrible case of writer's block. Read, enjoy, and please review!

* * *

(March 2nd.)

"Yeah...Um...I was just wondering if there was something I could do to help you find AJ. Like, I don't know, putting up missing person posters?"

"I'd appreciate that. I'm making some right now, actually." It was a gracious gesture from the woman who had claimed to hate AJ and called her a "two-faced bitch" only yesterday, and Drew assumed a guilty conscience was the motivation behind Kaitlyn's offer of assistance. "I don't mean to offend you, but why the sudden change of heart? You didn't seem too interested in helping me yesterday." He hoped to glean some potentially useful information from her answer.

She sighed audibly. "Well...When I talked to you, I realized you were different from the guys AJ usually goes for. You were so...so _concerned _about her, and I could tell you really do love her...Honestly, I don't think someone like you would've fallen for the old AJ, so maybe she _has_ changed for the better." Kaitlyn paused, then finished composing her thoughts in a choked voice. "Maybe she really is sorry for how she treated me."

Drew closed his eyes against the sting of new tears. AJ had undergone a dramatic transformation in the mere two weeks or so that he had known her. The insecure girl with trust issues and a hair-trigger temper had become a brave young woman who stood up for her values regardless of the risks. He could only imagine how volatile AJ must have been when things had gone sour in her friendship with Kaitlyn.

"I think she is," he agreed after some deliberation.

"Oh, man," Kaitlyn groaned. "I wish I hadn't been such a bitch to her! I should have given her a chance to explain-"

"Beating yourself up won't bring AJ back, Kaitlyn." Drew could benefit from taking his own advice, but that was always easier said than done.

"You're right." There was another pause, during which he could hear Kaitlyn inhale a shaky breath. She, too, was trying to keep the tears at bay. "So...What makes you think AJ's in danger?"

Drew struggled to contain the anger that began to flow through his body like molten lava. "Someone threatened her boss—someone who hates immigrants like him—and set fire to his nightclub a few days ago-"

"Club Destiny?" gasped Kaitlyn. "Oh, my God! I didn't know AJ worked—I mean, _works_—there... We used to party there on our birthdays...But why would these creeps take AJ? She's _American_."

"Because she's a traitor in their eyes." _And they're going to make an example out of her, one way or another, _he thought soberly. Drew was all too aware that political terrorist groups recruited followers using the same tactics religious cults practiced, and, unless they murdered AJ or she was rescued soon, those twisted bastards would almost certainly brainwash her into fighting for their cause. "Whoever did this either knows about her connection to Alberto or somehow found out that we've been dating." It did not escape his notice that he spoke of AJ in the present tense.

"That is _so _messed up."

"It is, but it's also the most likely scenario. Unless..." Drew's brain shifted even deeper into profiler mode and he began to mentally explore other avenues. Although he was confident that he had successfully pinpointed the type of individuals responsible for AJ's disappearance, he knew from past experience just how dangerous tunnel vision could be. "Kaitlyn, do you know of anyone else who might be angry at AJ? Or perhaps someone who was obsessed with her?"

"Well...She's dated a lot of jerks and creeps, but I'm pretty sure none of them would ever _hurt_ her. Not physically, anyway. I don't think she has any stalkers, either. Then again, we haven't talked since last year, so...Sorry. I'm afraid I'm not much help." Drew hadn't a clue about Kaitlyn's appearance, but he imagined that she was both blushing and looking glum at the same time.

"On the contrary." The Scot's lips almost, but not quite, formed a ghost of a smile. Kaitlyn, like AJ, was one of those people who could ramble for some time without taking a breath. It was one of those traits that AJ was self-conscious of yet he found endearing.

"Uh...If you want, I could pick up the poster when you're done and make copies-"

"_No_!" Drew practically yelled into the poor woman's ear. He quickly adopted a more reasonable—and quieter—tone. "No, I don't think that's such a good idea. The...people who abducted AJ might be watching me, and I won't have you becoming their next target." Drew had failed to protect AJ despite his best efforts, and he was terrified that another innocent person might meet the same fate. If Kaitlyn wanted to get involved, he supposed he couldn't stop her, but he _could_ try to keep her as anonymous as possible.

"Do you really think they'd do that?" Fright crept in alongside Kaitlyn's skepticism.

"I'm a former criminal profiler. I have a pretty good idea of how these types work," he informed her with grim certainty. The irony behind his last sentence was not lost on Drew. During his previous career, had used stereotypes to _solve_ crimes, while the monsters he referred to _committed _crimes because of stereotypes.

"I-I guess I'll take your word for it, then."

"Do you have a working printer?" Drew was eager to change the subject. He simply wanted to impress upon Kaitlyn the seriousness of the situation—not give her nightmares.

"Yeah."

"Good. Give me your e-mail and I'll scan the flier for you. Then you can make all the copies you want."

Kaitlyn agreed to the plan and submitted her e-mail address, which Drew hastily jotted down on a napkin, since he couldn't find paper anywhere nearby.

"Don't give up hope, Drew," she pleaded just before hanging up.

"I won't." He could barely squeeze a response past the lump in his throat. "And thank you."

Now that he was done talking to Kaitlyn, Drew's attention immediately returned to the camera, but his mind and heart were at war. He was still trying to act like a profiler even though he'd suddenly been cast in the role of the victim's grieving lover.

Profiler Drew had endured the constant exposure to senseless brutality by turning off his emotions and switching on the rational, analytical side of his brain. At work, each victim was just another case—a puzzle to be solved—but, in private, Drew grieved for the unique individuals they were.

It was different when the victim was someone close to you. Drew had reacted to his mother's death back in November by seeking consolation in a potentially deadly combination of drink and heroin, and only the possibility that AJ was still alive kept him from making a similar mistake this time around.

* * *

AJ could think a bit more clearly now that her basic needs had been somewhat sated.

In exchange for reciting a patriotic slogan like "We the people" or "God bless America", she was given a few bites of bread and a gulp or two of water every time Jack and Zeb had their own meals. She was also expected to express gratitude for their meager offerings or starve until she'd learned her lesson. Although AJ resisted at first, both out of resentment and fear of being drugged, she eventually became too ravenous _not_ to comply with their ridiculous demands—albeit grudgingly. Eating hurt like hell, but she needed to keep her strength up, especially her infrequent naps still lasted mere minutes.

Unsurprisingly, Zeb was the first one to hit the sheets once darkness fell. Without a watch or a clock, AJ couldn't say for certain how much time had elapsed since then, but surely it was at least fifteen or twenty minutes—enough time for her to safely begin executing her plan.

It wasn't difficult to turn on the waterworks—AJ had plenty to cry about these days—but she had to be quiet about it or else she'd disturb the cranky old man. Sure enough, the flowing tears soon attracted Jack's attention.

"Stop crying," he ordered from his usual spot by the door frame. AJ thought it was a good sign that he sounded more uncomfortable than hostile. She crossed her fingers behind her back.

"I...I can't help it," she sniffled. "I-I'm just so s-_scared_."

"Why?" Judging by his furrowed brows and tilted head, he was genuinely puzzled by her words. "We don't _want_ to hurt you-"

"But you've already hit me—_twice_," AJ pointed out, and Jack turned scarlet at the reminder.

"The first time was a mistake," he mumbled, choosing to stare at his shoes rather than meet her accusatory gaze. "You caught me off guard and I panicked."

"And the second time?" AJ asked quietly. She actually believed his story about the first offense, because she clearly recalled the brief conflict that played out across Jack's features just before his fist had slammed into her jaw.

He shrugged. "You shouldn't have screamed."

The brunette groaned. S_o much for an apology... _"I can't believe I got freakin' _kidnapped _over a guy I don't even love!" she grumbled. Even though she was lying to save her own ass, she still felt guilty about saying such an awful thing. Although AJ _always_ believed that her current boyfriend was actually her soul mate, the truth was, she loved Drew more than she had ever loved any other man. The thought of never seeing him again made her cry harder.

"You don't?" Jack wondered out loud. He studied her with undisguised curiosity.

AJ shook her head, careful to avoid aggravating her sore jaw. "Nope. We're just sleeping together. I've had my heart broken so many times that I don't believe in true love anymore." Authentic bitterness seeped into her tone during the last sentence. She had finally found happiness with Drew, and Jack and Zeb had made it their mission to sabotage the couple's future together.

Maybe "happily ever after" endings only happened in fairy tales...

Jack offered up a crooked smile. "Maybe you just haven't found the right man yet." There was no need to elaborate on the qualifications "the right man" must possess, and AJ was seized with terror at the idea that Jack was probably referring to himself. If these lunatics succeeded in brainwashing her, she just might end up becoming his girlfriend...

_Don't be ridiculous. _Jack acted more like an overprotective brother—the kind who disapproved of his sister's boyfriend and tried to break them up—towards AJ than someone who was either attracted to or lusted after her.

She could work with that. If Jack thought of her as a friend, she might be able to persuade him to let her go. But, if he developed stronger feelings for her, he would have even more incentive to continue keeping AJ under lock and key.

"I guess." AJ stopped speaking and resumed crying and sniffling. Jack, in return, sighed and dragged his fingers through his light blond hair, sweeping his bangs out of his eyes in the process, then started towards her. AJ, who associated his presence with being injured, flinched automatically when he was close enough to touch her.

"Please...Please don't hurt me," she begged, barely raising her voice above a timid whisper. Yes, she was playing the damsel in distress, but her words were also driven by legitimate fear.

"Calm down, AJ." Jack challenged her expectations by kneeling on the wooden floor near the headboard so that the two were eye to eye. "I swear we're not the enemy, sweetheart. Everything we've done is out of love for our country and our people."

_Bullshit. You did those awful things because you're hateful, intolerant bastards, _AJ argued silently, but one look into Jack's blazing blue orbs convinced her that he sincerely believed in everything he said.

The young woman stuck out her bottom lip in a beguiling pout. "I want to go home..." "Home" referred to the comfort she derived from the presence of Drew, her friends, and her dogs as opposed to her actual apartment-especially since that apartment was right across from Jack's place.

"This _is _your home—and, like it or not, me and Zeb are your family now. The sooner you accept that, the better." Jack reached out and blotted AJ's tears with his thumb, showing tenderness she didn't think he was capable of, but she cringed away from his touch regardless. Being touched by someone like him made her feel dirty. Dismayed, he got to his feet and trudged back to his preferred location near the door.

"And if I don't?"

Jack turned around and shrugged, having morphed into a heartless bastard again. "It doesn't matter. We'll break you eventually."

Worry lines creased AJ's forehead. She'd made some progress tonight, but this was going to be a _lot _harder than she had expected.


End file.
